


Everything to Nobody but Me

by benicemurphy



Category: Free!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Heavy Angst, Host Clubs, Host!Haru, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rich!Makoto, The dubcon/noncon elements DO NOT occur between Haruka and Makoto, Vomiting, alternate universe - host club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 18:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18057869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benicemurphy/pseuds/benicemurphy
Summary: The world of hosting isn't as glamorous as it's made out to be. Makoto finds himself in over his head when he falls for a beautiful host at the club where his friends work. Haruka just needs to catch a fucking break.





	Everything to Nobody but Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andreaphobia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreaphobia/gifts).



> This was supposed to be posted last week for [andreaphobia](http://andreaphobia.tumblr.com/)'s birthday, but what I thought was going to be maybe 8k words ended up this 24k monstrosity.  
> Happy birthday, Andrea! Thank you for being my friend and encouraging me always. I hope this lives up to the angsty host club fic of your dreams!

“This is ridiculous. I have no business being here. This is stupid. I’m stupid. There’s no way I’m going in there.”

Makoto turned and took a couple of steps away from the club. He had promised he’d visit his friends, but it simply was _not his kind of place_.

He was standing outside of a _very_ well-hidden club in Kabukicho, glad, for one thing, that he had thought to come so early, and furious with himself at the same time that he was there at all. More accurately, he was furious with Asahi and Kisumi, who had made him the reservation in the first place and told him in no uncertain terms that he was to show up at the stated time _with cash_ and _lots of it_.

It was such a stupid idea, and he knew it. Sure, he had plenty of money burning a hole in his pocket, but to spend it on something like _this_? Shouldn’t he spend on, oh, an apartment? Or a car? Or financial investments? Or, well, basically anything else that wasn’t sitting right behind that door?

Nevertheless, he did have an appointment, and Makoto had never been one to break appointments if he didn’t need to, so whatever reservations he had were just going to have to go away, because what it came down to was that he was going inside whether he wanted to or not.

As he opened the door, he was immediately greeted by a wall of mirrors covered with ten framed photos of extravagantly decorated men. Number One had the largest photo with the most ornate frame, followed by Two and Three, while Four through Ten were equally sized in identical frames. He was somewhat surprised to see familiar faces on the wall — Asahi at Nine and Kisumi all the way up at Three. He knew that his friends were successful, but it seemed like a pretty big deal to have their framed photos on display for everyone who walked in the door.

Before he had a chance to ponder it too much, a man with meticulously styled blonde hair in a dark green mohair suit and paisley ascot greeted him with the largest smile he’d ever seen. In a remarkably pleasant but slightly overwhelming rush, he was ushered to a table and given a book filled with images of coiffed, sort of fake-looking guys dressed in different types of attire. He took a moment to look around at the overwhelming surroundings. Large mirrors hung around the room, and every corner and crease was covered in brightly-colored neon lights. The ceiling was black and twinkled with embedded LED lights to give the illusion of a starry night sky. His table, and all of the tables in the row next to him, were small and round and made of some sort of sparkly silver material. In fact, nearly everything in the club was either black, mirrored, neon, or sparkly. It sort of gave off the impression of some sort of very gaudy dreamland.

He politely flipped through the book, not really intending to pick anyone seeing as the thought of picking a man off of a menu sickened him a little, mostly out of curiosity and to humor the man who had greeted him.

“You are so handsome,” the man in the green suit said as he stood across from Makoto at the table. “Please, what will you drink? I will bring it to you while you decide.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” Makoto replied, “but really, I’m just here to see my friends.”

“Your friends? You’ve been here before?” the man asked with another enormous smile. “Surely I would remember a handsome man like yourself.”

“No no, my friends work here, Asahi and Kisumi, I’m just here to see them.”

“Ah, you would like to request Asahi and Kisumi? They are very popular! Very handsome, very funny!”

“No! No, I don’t want to request them. I can wait.”

“Of course. Please, have you made your decision? So many men will be so excited to talk to such a kind and handsome man as yourself.”

“What? Oh, thank you, but—” he stopped flipping as his eyes landed on one of the hosts near the back of the book. He really hadn’t intended to choose anyone. He would have been completely satisfied sitting by himself and watching the action quietly as he waited for his friends to find him. That had been the plan until his eyes landed on a boy so beautiful he struggled to believe he could possibly be real.

“Him, please.” He pointed out the beautiful boy to the man in the green suit, who gave him yet another smile and a nod as he took back the book and left to retrieve Makoto’s choice.

Soon, he was seated across from a boy straight out of his fantasies. He was lean, smaller than himself, with jet black hair streaked with vibrant but tasteful strands of blue, piercings lining his ears, and a sleeve of tattoos running from his wrist to his shoulder, as far as he could see. He wore a plain white v-neck t-shirt, a black leather vest, tight black jeans, leather studded wrist cuffs on both wrists, and a matching studded collar around his neck. To top it off, he had the most impressive blue eyes Makoto had ever seen.

The boy didn’t say anything to start, just sat across from Makoto with a small smile on his face as if waiting for Makoto to begin. It was then that Makoto realized that he hadn’t even made note of the poor boy’s name. He had been so enamored with his appearance that he forgot to check.

“My name’s Makoto,” he said, holding out his hand for the other man to shake.

“Haruka,” he replied. “Makoto is a nice name. It suits you.”

Makoto smiled a bit indulgently at Haruka — he knew it was the boy’s job to compliment him, and he also realized that the comment itself was probably completely disingenuous, considering the boy had no idea what Makoto was like at all. Even so, he appreciated a compliment from a gorgeous man, genuine or not.

“Thank you,” he said. “Does Haruka suit you?”

“Most people say it does. What do you think?”

“I don’t really know. But I guess it goes well with your look. You’re very beautiful, Haruka.”

Makoto had no idea what came over him. He supposed it probably had something to do with the fact that he wasn’t on a real date, and it didn’t matter what he said. Haruka would respond favorably no matter what. It wasn’t as if he had any experience at all speaking to hosts, but he had heard enough of the funny, bizarre, and sometimes downright scary stories that Kisumi and Asahi told to know that he was in charge. It made him a bit uncomfortable to have that power, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny that it was a bit freeing to know he could speak any of his thoughts without reserve.

“Thank you. You’re very handsome, Makoto. Why is a handsome man like you sitting here talking to someone like me?”

“My friends work here,” he responded, and saw Haru’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline before he was able to collect himself and plaster on the casually disinterested expression he had surely perfected over years of playing this bad boy persona.

“Who are your friends?”

“Kisumi and Asahi.”

That time, Haruka did not try to hide his surprise.

“Your friends are two of our most popular hosts. Are you aware of that?”

Makoto chuckled sheepishly and scratched his cheek in a nervous habit he had picked up as a teenager. “I am now,” he said, “but I had no idea before I came here tonight. They’re the ones who made me the reservation.”

“I see,” Haruka said, and Makoto wasn’t sure, but he thought something in Haruka’s demeanor shift. “Well, I hope you don’t mind spending the evening with me.”

“Not at all! After all, I did choose—” he cut himself off, suddenly hot and embarrassed by the fact that he had _ordered a date_ and not terribly interested in admitting it out loud.

“It’s alright,” Haruka soothed after a moment. He gave another very tiny smile, and Makoto supposed that his reserved emotions were part of what made him so appealing. It felt like a gift whenever that cool facade was broken. “I’m here to be with you. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Well…” Makoto began. He hadn’t actually planned for any of this, and now he had no idea what to talk about with the boy. All he could really think to say was to further compliment the boy on his beauty, but he figured that was probably boring, and even though Haruka was a stranger that he would probably never seen again (because really, even if Asahi and Kisumi tied him up and dragged him there by the toes, there was no way he was ever coming back), he really didn’t want to come off as uninteresting. After all, he had requested Haruka, and now Haruka was stuck with him. He could at least make it worth his while.

Before he had time to come up with something to say, Haruka chimed in again. “How about we get you something to drink, Makoto? I’m sure it will help you relax.” He flagged over a waiter, who arrived with a menu immediately. “Please, choose what you like.”

Makoto skimmed the menu, which he noted did not list any prices, and eventually selected a bottle of chilled sake. The bottle arrived soon after, along with two glasses, and Haruka picked up the bottle and proceeded to first pour Makoto a drink and then one for himself.

“Cheers, Makoto,” Haruka said as he lifted his glass and brought it to his lips.

“Cheers,” he echoed, and then did the same.

It tasted better than any sake he’d had before, and he suspected that he would likely pay handsomely for it at the end of the night. Still, he supposed it was better to have something to do with his mouth and his hands, and if it did end up helping him relax, so much the better.

“So,” Haruka began again. “Tell me about your day.” He picked up the bottle and poured both of them another drink.

“Alright,” Makoto said. “Well, to be honest, Haruka, it wasn’t great.”

Haruka leaned closer to him across the table, eyes locked with Makoto’s. Something in his eyes made Makoto want to be honest with the boy. They were so wide and deep. The way he focused his full attention on Makoto made his heart race a little, and he felt interesting in a way that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.

“I met with an ex today,” he explained. “We broke up a while ago, but I needed to give him some of his things back.”

“That must have been hard for you,” Haruka encouraged.

Makoto nodded. “It was. It… wasn’t a very good breakup. To be honest, I don’t really know what happened. I thought everything was okay, and then one day, it just wasn’t. All of a sudden we were broken up, and then a couple of months passed, and then he messaged me out of nowhere to ask for his stuff back. As if I even wanted to keep his crappy CDs and ratty old jacket. It didn’t even fit me,” he added with a roll of his eyes. “So I had to go around my entire apartment and figure out what was his, and I found a bunch of gifts he had given me, and I figured I should probably give those back, too, which was a shame because one of them was a really cute mug shaped like a cat wearing glasses, and it was my favorite mug because it fit exactly the right amount of coffee, and I love cats.” He sighed, feeling quite irritated, and finished his second serving of sake. Haruka promptly refilled his glass, and then his own, which he had finished sometime during Makoto’s monologue.

“He should feel ashamed of himself,” Haruka said. “He was lucky to have you, and he made a mistake letting you go.”

Makoto felt himself release some tension from his shoulders that he didn’t realize he was holding. He smiled a little, letting go of his frustration. “That’s very sweet of you to say, but you’d have no way of knowing if that were true. Maybe I really was a terrible boyfriend. Maybe I just couldn’t see how unhappy he was because I was too self-absorbed or neglectful to notice.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Haruka tried again.

“You wouldn’t know, though,” Makoto said. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

“I know,” Haruka said, “but you seem kind. You seem like the type who looks out for others. Maybe you didn’t see how unhappy he was because he never showed you. Or maybe you only see the best in others. Maybe you were just happy to be with him and assumed he felt the same way. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

Makoto smiled again, then, a genuine smile that stretched his face, crinkling his eyes.

“Thank you, Haruka,” he said. “You’re very sweet.”

Haruka huffed a little then and turned his head away, blushing slightly. “It’s nothing. You deserve to be told how good you are. You seem good to me. I was just letting you know what I see.”

“Well, in any case, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat in silence for a minute while Haruka poured them both yet another glass of sake. Makoto was already feeling the effects of their first few glasses, which made him wonder how much Haruka had already had to drink that night, and how he was able to continue doing so without being seriously impaired. It was a bit of an unsettling thought, especially when he realized how much his two friends, about whom he cared very much, probably also drank on their shifts. He resolved to ask them about it another time, perhaps in the privacy of someone’s apartment, where it wouldn’t affect their job to discuss unsavory things like it might if they talked about it inside the club. For the same reason, he decided not to ask Haruka about it, either, and chose to move on to another topic altogether.

“So, what do you do?” he asked. “Besides this, I mean.”

“I’m a university student. I like to swim, and feel the water, and I also like animals.”

Makoto looked down again at the tattoos covering Haruka’s arm. There were patterns of waves with speckles of sea foam and the occasional sea creature incorporated throughout. The entire sleeve was beautifully done. The colors were vibrant, the lines were pristine, the shadowing was smooth, and the whole piece was very cohesive and flowing. It had a type of movement about it that would have made Makoto uneasy if it hadn’t been so beautiful.

“That must have cost a fortune.”

Haruka ran a finger up the design, stopping to trace the tentacles of an octopus gripping his forearm. For a moment, he seemed to truly be lost in thought, not putting on any kind of act, until he came back to reality and met Makoto’s gaze again. Just like the first time, Makoto was enraptured by his gaze, steady and sure, despite the amount of alcohol he’d been consuming.

“You should never compromise on something as important as permanently marking your body,” he offered without further elaboration. Makoto nodded in understanding. Although he didn’t know much about tattoos himself, he understood the idea of permanence and wanting to be proud of something that would be around forever.

Just then, he heard a commotion coming from somewhere behind him. The club was quite loud as it was, but his location amongst the smaller tables was a little quieter than the area with the larger tables on the other side of the club. People with larger parties were seated there, almost all women, he noted, and it seemed that most of the other hosts were circulating in that area. That was when the idea occurred to him.

“Haruka,” he started hesitantly, “how are you able to sit with me all night? Aren’t there other people here who would love to get the chance to talk to you?”

Haruka merely shrugged. “Usually I circulate with the other hosts. I don’t get many personal requests.”

Makoto was in shock. “How is that possible? You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I wasn’t even planning on requesting anyone until I saw you.”

Haruka blushed deeply in response, a reaction that Makoto was not expecting from someone in the business of being beautiful and receiving compliments, and Makoto drank in the sight like a man who hadn’t seen water in days. He was just so _gorgeous_ , and the knowledge that he had caused a reaction like that just by being honest made Makoto’s heart flutter and beat against his chest again, much like it had earlier. Some combination of chilled sake, Haruka’s big, earnest eyes, and the fact that he was essentially paying Haruka to like him made him say things that he would never dream of saying under normal circumstances.

As Haruka opened his mouth to respond, another ruckus flared up behind them, followed by groans of protest and a chorus of “Please stay!” from a rather large group of women. He could hear the distinct sound of Asahi’s laugh as he promised he’d come back to see them, and a few minutes later, he and Kisumi wandered over together.

“Hey, Makoto!” Kisumi called, sitting beside him and draping an arm over his shoulders. “I can’t believe you came!”

“Of course I came,” Makoto replied. “You didn’t give me much choice.”

“That’s our Makoto!” Asahi teased as he sat himself beside Haruka. “This guy can never miss an appointment,” he explained. “He feels bad when he has to call a restaurant to cancel dinner reservations. He’s a total saint.”

Haruka’s lips quirked up in a barely visible smile, nothing at all like the small smiles he’d been gifting Makoto all night. It seemed more like he was fighting with himself not to smile, and Makoto found it unreasonably endearing.

It was then that Makoto took notice of what his friends actually looked like. They looked… weird. Asahi’s eyes were a couple of shades too bright, as were Kisumi’s, which made him wonder if Haruka’s eyes were really as impressive as he thought, or if he, too, was wearing colored contacts like the others. But it wasn’t just the color that was off. They looked bigger, somehow, in a way that he didn’t think was due to just the makeup, which he was fairly used to seeing them in.

Their clothes were also completely ridiculous compared to their normal looks. While he understood that being a host meant making some compromises on their own personal style, Kisumi walking around in what looked to be a prince outfit unironically was not something he really expected to see. Asahi looked similarly ridiculous in a leather jacket covered in silver spikes and rhinestones and a pair of leather chaps that he suspected probably accentuated his ass and package in a very flattering way.

He accidentally released a fit of laughter, and then promptly clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle the rest. Asahi shot him a bewildered look, and Haruka, though much more understated, seemed to share his sentiments.

“What’s so funny all of a sudden?” Kisumi asked.

“I don’t want to say,” Makoto responded, trying to calm the remainder of his giggle fit. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Kisumi withdrew his arm as a loud “Hey!” sounded from the opposite side of the table.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Asahi exclaimed, momentarily losing his cool and then reigning himself back in when he realized he was still at work.

Kisumi nudged Makoto in the side and narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s gonna hurt our feelings, Makoto? Aren’t we beautiful?”

At the word “beautiful,” Makoto couldn’t help but trail his eyes over to Haruka, who was fixing him a bemused and somewhat intrigued stare of his own.

“Hey! Don’t look at Haru! Look at us!” Asahi shouted again.

Eventually, Makoto gave up after realizing that his friends were not going to drop the subject. He sighed, then resignedly spoke his mind.

“It’s just that you guys look ridiculous. You look like anime characters, but like, really weird.”

Asahi and Kisumi both balked at the statement wearing twin expressions of offense, and Makoto was reminded for the thousandth time why the two were best friends. They were _so_ much more alike than either of them would care to admit.

“Well, excuse me,” Kisumi started in, “but you don’t get to be the third best host in Shinjuku by walking around looking like an average guy!”

“That goes for nine, too!” Asahi defended. “This look takes a lot of effort, and women love it! And by the way, if we didn’t walk around looking like this, there’s no way you’d have had that big fancy apartment all through college!”

Then it was Makoto’s turn to squawk out an indignant “Hey!” before turning bright red. “I’m sorry! I told you I didn’t want to hurt your feelings! I’ve just never seen you all dressed up like this before…” he trailed off, not really sure where he should stop.

He looked over at Haruka again, who sat with his head down and his shoulders shaking slightly, and Makoto could have _sworn_ he heard a snicker come from his direction. Was Haruka _laughing_ at him?

He sat fixated for a bit on Haruka’s shaking form, in awe of the possibility that he may have made the cool, collected boy lose his composure.

“Are you insulting Haru, too?” he heard Kisumi grumble to his left. “He probably doesn’t appreciate that, you know.”

Finally, Haruka raised his head and looked Kisumi square in the eyes. “Actually, I’m the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.”

Makoto’s face flamed instantly, and at that moment he wanted nothing more than to turn into a puddle of goo and drip off of his seat and down through the floorboards. Asahi and Kisumi were pinning him with two of the biggest shit-eating grins he’d ever seen. He knew that he would _never_ live that down, not for the rest of his life. They would be at his funeral reciting tales of his long lost love, _the most beautiful man he’d ever seen_ , a host he paid at a club to pay attention to him.

No, he was definitely never coming back.

Eventually, Kisumi and Asahi had to take their leave to continue visiting their paying tables, and it was back to being just the two of them. Makoto wasn’t sure what to say after that, but Haruka seemed content to sit with him in silence anyway. Not much later, a waiter came back to bring his bill, signaling the end of his reservation, and Makoto paid his exorbitant tab and left without finishing the bottle.

On his way out the door, he was tapped on the shoulder and turned around the find Haruka standing with his phone out.

“I forgot to give you my LINE, in case you’d like to talk sometime,” he said.

He thought for a moment about rejecting the offer, but Haruka really was a nice guy, and even if he knew he’d never use it, he accepted all the same. After all, it was Haruka’s job to offer, and if he didn’t take it, it might seem like he hadn’t had a good time, which would be bad for Haruka. They swapped info, and with a final smile, Makoto turned and walked away.

__________

Haru finally made it through his apartment door around 4:00 AM. He was exhausted, and his head was spinning, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he should aim for the bathtub or the bed. He felt the incredible need to wash the evening off of himself, as he always did after a night of work, but he ran the risk of falling asleep (or puking) in the bathtub if he sat there, and neither of those were very desirable options.

Instead of taking the risk, he stumbled into the bathroom and positioned himself over the toilet. With practiced ease, he was able to throw up most of what was left in his stomach. He flushed it down, then grabbed a bottle of mouthwash to swish the remaining taste out of his mouth before moving to the sink to fill his water bottle. He would need to drink two bottles before he could take an aspirin and go to sleep. He needed to feel rested and healthy tomorrow if he was going to make it through his afternoon exam.

Although his head still spun, he felt slightly better having emptied his stomach, and he plopped himself onto the couch and began his task to drain two full bottles of water. Just to pass the time, he flipped on his 70-inch television and flipped through the channels until he landed on something that wasn’t too colorful or nauseating to watch.

Getting through the first bottle was difficult. He could feel his body’s desire to reject the liquid, but he forced it down anyway. His body would thank him in the morning. When it was finished, his head did feel slightly better, and he wandered over to the fridge to see if there was anything he could eat. It was too late (or early, he supposed) to cook anything of substance, so he opened the rice cooker and scooped out some leftover rice from earlier. At least it was something.

He got the rice down, followed by another bottle, and with a grimace and a longing in his heart that he couldn’t fulfill at the moment, he took a quick shower, swallowed a couple of painkillers, and promptly passed out on top of his comforter.

It came time to wake up much sooner than Haru would have liked. The sun was bright in the sky, the birds were chirping, car horns were blaring, and every sound floated into his lofty apartment. He supposed the noise of the city was the price he had to pay for a prime location within walking distance of the club. He didn’t have to worry about transportation to get home, and the way was always well-lit, which meant it was relatively safe, all things considered. His apartment complex also had a doorman and opened to an indoor hallway, so creeps who tried to follow him home weren’t able to get in… usually. There had only been one frightening incident of a fan who managed to slip past when the doorman was distracted, but that doorman had promptly been fired, and no other incidents had occurred since.

He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Only when he pulled away did he realize he had slept with all of his makeup on. He groaned audibly and got up to begin his makeup removal routine. It was a mistake he couldn’t afford to make. His skin had to be pristine. If it wasn’t, it could cost him days, maybe even weeks of pay, and he couldn’t afford it. He had his gorgeous apartment through the generosity of a select few customers, but that didn’t mean he lived without expenses. He had allowed himself to be distracted before bed, which wouldn’t have happened if his routine hadn’t been broken the night before. If he ended up with a blemish because he was too distracted to remove his makeup, he was really going to hear it from the club owner.

As if he didn’t hear it all the time, anyway.

With a clean face and a few hours to kill before his exam, he finally settled into his tub to take the soak he had been craving all night. Normally, he wasn’t much of a fan of jetted tubs, as they disturbed the water’s natural flow, but his body was heavy and his mind was stressed, and the gentle pulse of the jets did help to soothe him when he really needed it.

It had been a long time since he had been requested. His boss would probably be glad to hear that someone had finally asked for him, only to be frustrated again that he had only managed to sell one bottle. Haru himself was also frustrated about it. Normally, for a request, he was able to sell a few bottles per person, and maybe even a champagne tower if they were in a particularly good mood or wanted to celebrate something. He should have pushed for more. He needed the money, and he didn’t have many opportunities to see customers one-on-one compared to the other hosts. Unfortunately, that meant that he had to circulate with the other unclaimed hosts, and Haru had never been the type to shine in group situations.

He _knew_ he should have pushed for more, knew he _could_ have pushed for more, and the man with the kind smile and sad eyes would have bought him anything he asked for. It just hadn’t felt right to do that to him. Haru hadn’t even gotten the impression that he was interested in being there at all, and saddling him with a bill that who knows if he could have paid would have been wrong.

The poor guy. No matter how much he smiled and laughed, there was something so broken about him. Haru had been in the business long enough to tell when someone needed temporary cheering up and when someone’s problems ran deeper than they could solve at the club. Maybe that was why he had caught up with the man to swap contacts. As a general rule, Haru never offered his information to his clients, since most were prone to abusing the privilege, and he was required to respond every time. Haru _detested_ having to use his phone, and keeping up with creepy old men and lonely women only made matters worse. Most people didn’t think to ask, but when they did, he was required to give it. He _never_ offered it himself.

Well, there was a first time for everything, he supposed.

He soaked for a long time, allowing his muscles to relax and his mind to wander until all of his unwanted thoughts had floated away. When he was finished, he stepped out, drained the tub, grabbed his lotion, and proceeded to lotion his neck and limbs, taking extra care with his tattoos. Then he applied his face creams — one to even out his skin tone, one to moisturize, and one with SPF that made his skin glow. He knew it was necessary — he wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t — but sometimes it felt like a waste. The only people who touched him were people he wished never would.

He sighed again, dressed and packed his bag, and headed to campus to take his exam.

__________

Another night, another shift at the club. He had checked his face meticulously for blemishes, but luckily he was as smooth as ever. He was right, however, that his boss was pretty angry about how little Makoto had drank. It wasn’t so much that the club needed money, because god knows that the top hosts were bringing in more money than the club knew what to do with, and more so the fact that having hosts that didn’t improve over time gave the club a bad reputation.

Ultimately, it only hurt Haru if he never made enough money. He worked exclusively on commission, so without sales, he didn’t take home a paycheck. He had a few loyal customers, and he was grateful for the money they brought in, but he despised every minute he had to spend with most of them.

That night was his night with one of his regulars, and he took some comfort in the fact that he would bring in a lot of money for the club and likely go home with enough to pay his bills for the month. He kept that motivation in mind as he applied his makeup and got dressed.

His outfit for the evening was gaudy and in poor taste, but the customer he was going to see for the evening had bought it for him and insisted he wear it tonight, so he had no other choice. He wore a long-sleeved black mesh body suit with a red leather jacket on top, along with a pair of dark-washed cutoff jean shorts and knee-high combat boots. He draped a couple of studded belts on his hips and made sure his eyes were dark and smokey so that the blue of his irises popped out like a demon lurking in the shadows. “Incubus” was sort of the desired look.

Haru tried not to look at himself too subjectively in the mirror. Did his eyes pop? Yes. Was his makeup even? Yes. Did his clothes fit flatteringly? Yes. Nothing mattered beyond that. He was dressed to fill a fantasy, nothing more. That was the job.

His regular customer, a man in his mid-to-late forties named Yamamoto, always rented him for the entire evening, which meant that Haru never had to circulate the tables on those evenings. On that particular evening, they were in a secluded corner where the mirrors were positioned _just so_ to give the illusion of total privacy. The music and crowd noise was somewhat muffled, and the vibrant neons surrounding them provided the only light, surrounding anyone who sat there in a sort of artificial fairy-tail kind of glow. Haru would have loved that corner, except that by now he understood the implications of sitting there alone with a man who was paying for his company.

As always, they started with a bottle of the club’s finest brandy. Haru listened to Yamamoto prattle on about the intricacies of his business dealings and how fed up he was with his wife, as usual, and in return he told Yamamoto that his wife was _clearly_ in the wrong, and how she had some nerve to be upset with him for working too hard and spending too much time away from home, and that _yes_ , of course that ridiculously stupid lie that he crafted to get her off his back about his secretary was _absolutely_ believable. He drank, and when Yamamoto bored of the brandy and requested a bottle of sochu instead, Haru excused himself to the little boys’ room to empty his stomach before the booze could soak into his blood stream. After all, he had a full night ahead of him. He had to keep his wits about him, at least to some extent.

The night passed in a fog as it always did. Despite his best efforts, he wound up drunk and trying his best to remain calm and level-headed, as was inevitable after fifteen or twenty drinks, no matter how many times he made himself sick. And, of course, before he was able to go home, he found himself in the usual hotel with Yamamoto, as they always did.

That particular hotel room made him feel even sicker than the alcohol. All of the walls were covered in mirrors, much like the club, and Yamamoto made sure that they were always facing one. Although technically it was not part of his job, and he could refuse if he felt able to, Yamamoto had bought his apartment and single-handedly made him the majority of his monthly income. If he refused, he ran the risk of losing his biggest (and one of his only) repeat customers.

So there he was, watching himself through foggy eyes in a hotel mirror that was suspiciously _too_ clean, as a man 25 years his senior had his way with him from behind. All he could be thankful for in that moment was that Yamamoto never made him kiss or have too much bodily contact, aside from what was necessary to fulfill the act. His wife would be able to smell it, he claimed, and Haru refrained from telling him that his wife could probably already smell his cheating all over him, and that was exactly why she also wouldn’t buy the ridiculous lies he constantly made up to cover up his affair with his secretary.

And, as always at the end of the night, when he returned home just a little more damaged than before, he stripped himself of his clothes, cleaned himself up, and crawled under the covers where no one would ever see him weep, mourning the life he’d never have.

__________

Makoto was shaking. He had known not to expect anything good to come of the evening, but still, he had let himself hope. It was always something, wasn’t it? He was too overbearing, he talked to too much, he trusted too easily, he had too much faith in people. He knew he had flaws, but for so many years he had convinced himself that despite those flaws, he was a _good person_.

But his dates never really seemed to think so.

It had been another date just like all the rest. He thought it had gone really well. The conversation flowed, they shared flirtatious smiles and innocent touches, and then later, not-so-innocent touches and a lot of tongue and a type of intimacy that he had at one time hoped he could save for the person he’d spend forever with. Then, when the fucking was over and the date officially at a close, his date had casually mentioned in a not entirely subtle way that he had _things_ he had to do, places to _be_ in the morning, and then had seen him to the door without so much as a goodnight kiss. Makoto knew he would probably never see that guy again.

He was _so tired_ of being jerked around by men who didn’t care to know him. He thought he was a likable person. He thought he was good. He _used_ to think that eventually, he’d meet someone who actually _liked_ him — not just someone who wanted to fuck him once, or a couple of times, or even for a few months, until they got tired of his mothering nature and his inability to let things go.

So he was shaking, hurt and humiliated and feeling like the lowest person in the world. When was he going to be willing to give up? When would he just admit to himself that he wasn’t worth having? The signs were there. He could talk himself up all he wanted, but at the end of the day, the proof was in every man who had dated him, chosen to get to know him, and then decided that _they didn’t want him_.

Upset, and lonely, and desperate to not be _alone_ , he called Kisumi, hoping for maybe just a night in watching bad romance movies and crying. Kisumi would at least grant him a shoulder to cry on when he couldn’t stand doing it alone in his apartment by himself _yet again_.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang some more, and with a heavy heart Makoto realized that he was probably interrupting Kisumi at work. If he was there, it likely meant that Asahi was there, too, and _god dammit_ he just really needed someone to talk to.

Not even bothering to change out of his date clothes, rumpled from being on a near-stranger’s dingy floor and smelling like pathetic defeat, he held back the tears that had been threatening since he left his date’s apartment and walked a path he thought he’d never take again. It had to say something about him that he would even consider going back to that place, but he was at the point that he no longer felt the shame of paying someone for company. He needed it. He needed _someone._ He just needed to not feel unwanted and unlovable for the first time in a long, long time.

__________

To say that Haru was shocked that he had another request so soon after the last one would be an understatement. It had been about a week since his appointment with Yamamoto, which meant that he likely wouldn’t see him for another week. His other regulars included an unattractive girl in her late-twenties who only came in when she got a particularly large paycheck at work, a middle-aged single mother who came in when her kids were away for the night but always booked him in advance, and a man in his mid-thirties who could only be described as a nerd in both appearance and personality. He was always interesting, though, because he could be quite pushy and demanding when he wanted to be. Haru figured it was probably because he got pushed around a lot at his job, as bitterly as he always spoke of it.

So, that is to say, Haru didn’t have many regulars, and most other people didn’t make it to the back of the book to choose him. Intrigued, and slightly relieved that he might make enough money to get his hair redone and still have some left over to indulge in some healthier food for the month, he made his way quickly to where his company for the evening was seated.

If he had been shocked before, he was downright flabbergasted to see Makoto seated at the table. He had expected to hear from Makoto, the man who had called him the most beautiful man he had ever seen (a difficult compliment to forget, coming from someone who seemed as completely open as Makoto), at least once over the past couple of weeks, but he never called.

Upon closer inspection as Haru neared the table, Makoto looked _terrible_. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, his eyes were puffy, and his whole aura was gloomy and miserable. He sat with his shoulders slumped and his head down, twiddling his thumbs together on the table while he waited. His heart immediately went out for him. Whatever had him down had him thoroughly consumed.

He slid into the seat across from him as gently as possible so as to not surprise or disturb him.

“Hi again, Makoto,” he said, and Makoto looked up at him with an expression that confirmed all of Haru’s previous observations.

Makoto didn’t say anything, just looked at Haru with the most downtrodden, broken expression he had seen in a long time. Then, all at once, he broke down.

Haru wasn’t sure what to do. He’d seen customers cry before, but usually someone else who was better at handling that sort of thing was able to step up and take care of the cheering-up.

“Hey…” he said, totally unhelpfully. He tried desperately to remember what had helped the last time Makoto was there, but nothing came to mind. What had they talked about? Well, Makoto thought he was beautiful, which had been a fun thing to tell Kisumi and Asahi — Ah! “Hey, I’m here, but I can get one of your friends if you need me to.”

Makoto shook his head, but still, no words came out. Not knowing what else to do, Haru moved to the other side of the table. He wasn’t supposed to initiate much physical contact with his clients inside the club, but he thought that it was pretty clear there was nothing sexual happening at the moment, so he could get away with it. He set one hand on Makoto’s back where he had hunched over, hoping the contact would sooth some of Makoto’s pain. Without knowing what was going on, he couldn’t offer any words of reassurance. So he waited.

After a few minutes, and after Haru had requested that the waiter give them a few minutes before he returned, Makoto finally calmed down.

“Are you okay?” Haru asked, and Makoto shook his head miserably again. “Do you want to talk about it?” he tried.

Makoto sniffed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come here and waste your time. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

Haru felt horrible, and the guilt over what he was about to ask was almost enough to stop him, but it was his _job_. “Would you like a drink?” Makoto nodded, and Haru waived the waiter back over. “Is there anything in particular that you would like?”

“Whatever you like,” Makoto replied. “I don’t know.”

It was times like these that Haru resented being such a moral person. He _could_ have ordered himself the champagne fountain, or a 40,000 yen bottle of brandy, but Makoto had come because he needed to be treated _well_ , not to be treated like a wallet with legs. “Can you at least give me a price range that you’re comfortable with?” he asked instead, and Makoto just shrugged again.

Haru really didn’t know what to do. After a tense moment, Makoto finally pulled his head up, and instead of pain and misery, his expression showed something more like resignation.

“Get something that people never order for you, but you wish they would,” he said finally. “I’m afraid I’m not very good company tonight, but I’d like it if you’d enjoy yourself. I can pay.”

Haru didn’t need to be told twice, and ordered a bottle of a nice champagne. It was expensive, but not as expensive as the champagne fountain, and it would probably help to loosen Makoto up without doing as much damage to his own liver as the other choices.

They didn’t speak again until Makoto was about halfway through his first glass.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” he said. Haru frowned.

“You’re not wasting my time. I’m happy to see you.”

Makoto huffed a bitter-sounding laugh and took a long drink of his champagne. “Sure.” He looked Haru in the eyes again and stayed there for a moment, just sipping his drink and looking lost in thought.

“I wish you’d tell me what has you so upset,” Haru tried again. “You’re too kind to have that kind of look on your face.”

Makoto sighed and reached over to pour himself another glass, but Haru beat him to it. It was his job. He needed to serve his customer. He lifted the bottle and filled his glass higher than the regulation amount they’d been taught to pour. He didn’t think Makoto would make a complaint against his bottle service.

“I had a bad date tonight,” he finally said. It was the kind of explanation that always had more to it. One bad date didn’t equate to breaking down in a loud room full of mirrors and neon lights in front of a man he’d only met once. Haru fixed him with the look that he remembered had dragged more information out of him last time they had spoken. “Actually, it was a good date,” he corrected. “I thought he was nice. I thought we had a lot in common. Apparently he didn’t agree, or maybe he just changed his mind when he was done fucking me.”

Haru did his best not to wince. He understood that pain. His mind immediately flashed to Yamamoto, the absolute last thing he wanted to think about, _ever,_ but especially when he was at work trying to get through the night without losing it. Sure, it wasn’t the same thing — Haru had no desire to fuck Yamamoto — but the principle was similar. Being viewed as nothing more than a pretty face was hard. People tended not to act very human when they could get a piece of a pretty person.

“Makoto, please don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said, keeping his voice low but still loud enough to be heard over the pulsating music of the club. “You don’t deserve to be treated that way. You deserve to be happy. I wish you’d be happy.”

Makoto looked at him again and indicated his empty glass. Haru was slipping this evening. He needed to be more attentive to the customer’s needs. “Let’s order another bottle,” Makoto said. “If I keep ordering, I can stay, right?” Haru nodded and motioned for another bottle. Finally, after a lot of silence and nearly an entire bottle of champagne, Makoto sat back and looked like he was ready to relax.

__________

It wasn’t really a difficult decision to make when Makoto was ready to admit to himself that he wanted it. He enjoyed Haruka’s company. Haru was nice to him, and would let him speak his mind and tell him how beautiful he was, and Makoto was willing to bet that if he tried to hold Haruka’s hand, he might even let him. All he had to do was stop fighting with himself, stop looking for something that wasn’t there, and just let himself go.

After that night, Makoto began visiting Haruka regularly. At first it was difficult to justify the expense to himself, but what else was he going to spend all of that money on if not a gorgeous man who made him feel good about himself? Every time he saw Haruka, he left at the end of the night feeling a little more whole. Slowly but surely, he was getting to know the boy as a person, and it did nothing to dim the attraction he felt toward him. Haruka was _wonderful_ , and Makoto would spend every dime he had on him if it meant he could keep looking into those big, expressive blue eyes.

He wondered how it would be to take Haruka out on a real date someday, away from the club. Maybe they could go hiking, or dancing, or to see a show, or maybe even to the ocean if Makoto was feeling brave. Haruka had mentioned how much he loved the water, and Makoto couldn’t help but think about how lovely it would be to float around on his back next to Haruka, hand-in-hand in the middle of nowhere, with no one around to get in their way and no responsibilities to tie them down.

Makoto sighed at his desk as he closed down the tab he had opened to research private beach getaways. He had to stop thinking like that. It would never happen. Haruka was nice to him because Makoto paid him to be, and he was sure that if the money went away, so would the attention. Still, though, it was nice to imagine having that kind of life, where he could go on vacation with a man he loved, just enjoying spending time together.

It was possible to take the hosts out on dates, wasn’t it? Hadn’t Asahi or Kisumi gone out with some of their clients before? He couldn’t remember; it was entirely possible that those had been real dates, but he was never sure where the lines between business and pleasure blurred when it came to hosting.

He looked at the clock and realized that it was actually about time for him to get up and meet Kisumi and Asahi at Asahi’s sister’s cafe, and he found that he was actually very interested to talk to both of them with the new questions swirling around in his mind.

Asahi and Kisumi were both already seated with their drinks by the time Makoto arrived, so he ordered at the counter before he sat so that Akane wouldn’t have to be bothered to come over to the table twice. His friends were deep in a discussion about something, but as he neared, the conversation faded away, and he was greeted by two smiling faces and a looming sense of dread.

“So, long time no see, Makoto,” Kisumi said. “Been busy?”

Asahi snickered. “Well, _we’ve_ seen _you_ , I guess, but it usually seems like you don’t even realize we’re there.”

“Yeah, if I had known you’d be coming into our work now and totally blowing us off, I wouldn’t have gotten you that reservation in the first place!”

Makoto knew that they were teasing him and that they weren’t actually upset with him, but the fact that he’d been caught going to the club to see a boy that they all knew he was attracted to was, well, embarrassing. He couldn’t help the heat that rose to his face and ears as he sat next down at the table.

In a more serious tone, Kisumi said, “You know, you can text him if you have his information. You wouldn’t have to pay so much. I think he’d be okay with it if it’s you.”

Makoto shrugged. “I don’t want to bother him. At least when I go see him at the club, he gets something out of it, too.”

“He’s been doing a lot better at work since you started coming in,” Asahi interjected. “The boss seems happy with him. His numbers are better and his attitude is better. He’s performing better with the other club patrons, too.”

Kisumi nodded in agreement. “Do you know much about his other regulars?”

Makoto’s stomach lurched at the thought of Haruka having other regulars. Of course he did, though. Even if he wasn’t extremely popular, he was still stunningly beautiful, and Makoto couldn’t possibly have been the only person to see that. Still, it bothered him to think about Haruka giving all of his attention to someone else on the nights that he wasn’t there. It bothered him even more that he was becoming possessive of a man who wasn’t even his and never would be.

“No,” he responded when he remembered to answer the question. “I haven’t heard anything about that.”

Kisumi and Asahi exchanged a meaningful look then, and Makoto didn’t know what it meant. He was getting ready to ask but was interrupted when Akane arrived with his coffee. He thanked her and waited for her to walk away before fixing them both with a questioning look.

“It’s not big deal,” Asahi said with a shrug. “Pretty much all of the hosts have regulars. It’s pretty normal.”

Kisumi nodded again. “I have a lot of regulars who message me on LINE pretty frequently. I just let them all know that I have certain times that I can talk, and then I set aside time during my day to make sure I’m available for them.”

“What do they message you about?” Makoto asked, letting his curiosity take over. He wondered if Haruka had the same kinds of rules.

“Oh, whatever they want.” Kisumi waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “Sometimes it’s like being a therapist, other times they want some dirty talk. That’s mostly why I set a time frame for them, so that I’m not out in public or something when I start getting nasty messages on my phone.”

He said it so casually, as if strangers sexting him in the middle of the day was something totally normal. What kinds of things must they put up with if Kisumi was willing to schedule time to sext with women he might not even be attracted to?

“Asahi?” he questioned. Asahi scratched his nose while he thoughts about it.

“Well, I’m not quite as popular as Kisumi, but I do have a lot of regulars, and some of them have asked me out before. I don’t have a schedule for taking messages because I don’t have to give out my number to as many customers as Kisumi does.”

Makoto’s attention immediately zoomed in on the piece of information he had been searching for. “So you go out with your customers?” He tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible, but the twin knowing looks on his friends’ faces told him that he’d given himself away.

“Planning to ask out a certain blue-eyed beauty, huh?” Kisumi teased as he ruffled Makoto’s already unruly hair. Makoto shrugged out of his reach, feeling called out and a bit insecure.

“No,” he lied. “I just wasn’t sure if you were actually allowed to go out with anyone. You guys get a lot of dates, that’s all. I was just curious if they were real dates or, you know, work.”

They exchanged another glance, the teasing atmosphere turning slightly more somber, though Makoto wasn’t sure why.

“You know,” Kisumi started in a hushed tone, leaning forward so that others in the cafe couldn’t overhear. “We are allowed to go on dates with the customers, but anything that happens outside of the club… well, not all dates are the same, you know?”

Makoto didn’t know, actually. Pretty much all of his dates went the same way. That was how he ended up spending so much time with Haruka in the first place.

Asahi must have seen his confused expression, because he leaned in as well to add, even more quietly than Kisumi, “There are some people you shouldn’t go out with. Even if they’re regulars, you need to know when to draw the line.”

“Why?” Makoto asked, fearing for is friends. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Once you set a precedent, it’s hard to go back on it,” Kisumi explained. “If someone takes you out once, they’re going to want to take you out again, most likely. If not, it’s because you haven’t done your job well enough, even if you’re off the clock. All interactions with clients are business. If you do something wrong, that’s potential business lost.”

“And if you go out with someone and realize too late that they’re not exactly who they make themselves out to be inside the club, things can get serious pretty fast.”

Makoto’s heart thudded loudly in his chest. How was any of this legal? What kind of business had his two closest friends gotten themselves into? What kinds of horrible things had they seen? He’d heard some of the stories, of course. There had been a host at their club who had once had to eat noodles that a woman had chewed up and then spit into her shoe. Another host had been stalked back to his apartment and put in danger. What sorts of things had Asahi and Kisumi personally been through that they simply hadn’t told him about?

His thoughts drifted to Haruka then, and to the question he’d been asked earlier, about whether or not he knew anything about Haruka’s regulars. His stomach turned again, and his fear grew as he thought about Haruka, who wasn’t very popular and probably needed to make more compromises than Kisumi or Asahi. His heartbeat picked up and he found himself hoping with everything he had that Haruka hadn’t had to go through any of the horrible things he had heard about, or worse.

He resolved then and there to make sure that he would never have to. Asahi and Kisumi could look out for themselves. They had plenty of leeway to choose who to take on dates and exactly how available to make themselves, because they were two of the club’s biggest moneymakers. Haruka, sweet Haruka who told him every time he saw him that he was good, and kind, and that he shouldn’t be so down on himself, didn’t have that kind of freedom.

He wanted to ask him about it. He wanted to make sure, now that he had become privy to all of this new, unsettling information, that Haruka was safe. If it meant that he had to go every night and request him before someone else could, then he would. He would do whatever he needed to do to make sure that Haruka was taken care of and treated the way he deserved to be treated — like something to be cherished, not something to be used and then tossed aside. Makoto knew all too well how it felt to be tossed aside, and he’d be damned if he allowed Haruka to feel that way, ever.

It didn’t matter that Makoto had only ever talked to him inside the club, or that the majority of their interactions were probably less than genuine, considering that Makoto was purchasing his services when they spent time together. It didn’t matter that Haruka was way out of his league and probably wouldn’t have spared him a second glance if they’d met under different circumstances. It didn’t even matter that no matter what Makoto did, Haruka would never be more to him than a pretty face to drink with and spill his problems to. He felt in his gut that he needed to protect the boy, and respect him, and treat him like a saint, because for all Makoto knew, he was one.

The next time Makoto saw him, he would ask him on a date, and he would show him that taking him out would not be a mistake.

__________

Haru forced himself to swallow his bile. He hadn’t been able to excuse himself as much as he needed to at the club, and it was catching up to him now. His head spun, and he was sure his arms were shaking, but he couldn’t let himself go just yet. The night was almost over. He just had to make it through to the end, just had to endure a little bit more, and then he could go home and let himself collapse and hurl and cry and _scream_ if he wanted to in solitude and safety. His ass stung from the intrusion, his knees hurt from the cheap, rough carpeting, and he just wanted to get away as quickly as possible.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he made a mental note that he would need to get tested again. He prayed that it would come up clean. He couldn’t handle the thought of contracting something that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of. He had once wanted a normal life, a normal job, maybe even a normal relationship with someone sweet and gentle who cared about his opinion and wanted what was best for him. Instead he had a big, empty apartment, an extensive history of visits to the free clinic, and no pride.

Finally, at long last, he felt the disgusting shudder of his most despised client finishing inside him and thanked any god he could think of that it was finally over. Secretly he was happy that he himself had not managed to get off. He hated coming during sex with Yamamoto. It made him feel dirty and cheap and like he had terrible taste. It made him feel ashamed for enjoying something so heinous and utterly _unenjoyable_. Any time he managed to hold himself back, he held on to just a tiny bit more self-worth than he would have otherwise been able to maintain.

As usual, Yamamoto pushed his payment through to Haru’s LINE account before uttering a couple of grunts and leaving him alone in the aftermath. He could be grateful for that too, he guessed, because at least the room had a shower that he could use to clean himself up on days when Yamamoto “forgot” to bring a condom. As quickly and efficiently as he could, he hobbled over to the bathroom and promptly vomited in the toilet before throwing himself into the shower and blasting the hot water as high as it would go. He sat like that for a while, just letting the heat scald his skin as he watched the water mix with the unwanted fluids until it ran clean. After that, he sat for even longer and waited for the water to turn cold. He briefly considered just staying in the room for the night so that he wouldn’t have to walk home, but the thought of waking up in that awful place was motivation enough to get himself up and dressed and on his way.

In the morning when he woke up, he had a thundering headache. He hadn’t been in the right state of mind to follow his usual post-work water and aspirin routine, so any time he moved he felt nauseated and sore all over his body.

His only relief came from the knowledge that he had nowhere he needed to be that day. He could just stay in bed all day.

__________

When Haru woke up, he really was not expecting to find a new message on his phone. He unlocked the screen and squinted at the bright light, having slept through pretty much the entire day. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he realized that he hadn’t had anything to eat in at least 24 hours and had nothing in his fridge to make for himself.

He shook the thought out of his head as he focused again on the screen. He had extra money this month from Makoto’s frequent visits to the club. He could order something in. He didn’t need to worry about it.

The message gave him pause as he considered his options. He really didn’t want to work tonight. He didn’t want to go out at all, actually, but his stomach was growling angrily and the prospect of another decent chunk of money was really enticing. He wasn’t quite used to having more than he needed, so it was definitely tempting, but the thought of going on another date after the horrible night he’d had leading up to where he was now was… well, it was sickening.

Still, he couldn’t help but think about it…

**Makoto: If you’re free tonight, I’d love to take you out. Just dinner and some nice conversation.**

Just dinner, huh? Well, he _was_ hungry, and Makoto was a pretty nice guy, if not a little emotionally needy. Did he feel safe doing that? Would dinner and some nice conversation with Makoto really end there?

He forced himself out of bed and dragged his feet all the way to the bathtub so that he could soak as he considered it. What had he learned about Makoto in the past few weeks of getting to know him? He knew that Makoto was lonely. He wouldn’t come back so often if he wasn’t. That was concerning. If Makoto became too attached, that could present a real problem for Haru. He also knew that Makoto was friends with Asahi and Kisumi, and they were pretty good guys and had dealt with some pretty shitty things during their time as hosts, so if they could vouch for him, that was probably a good sign. Makoto also seemed like a pretty straightforward guy. He tended to say whatever he was thinking, even if it was embarrassing (and Haru wasn’t sure if Makoto didn’t realize he was saying embarrassing things or if he just didn’t care). Haru thought long and hard about it, and decided that if Makoto had really wanted something more than dinner, he probably would have asked.

When the water cooled and it was nearly too late to respond, he regretfully removed himself from the tub and dried off, then started searching for something to wear that he thought Makoto might like him in. Finally, he picked up his phone and pecked out a response.

**Haruka: There’s a good seafood restaurant not far from the club. How does that sound?**

The response was almost immediate.

**Makoto: Perfect! When should I meet you?**

**Haruka:** **I can be there in twenty minutes. Will that work for you?**

**Makoto: Yes! See you soon!**

**Haruka: See you soon.**

__________

The Haruka who arrived to meet Makoto at the restaurant was… different. He was still just as overwhelmingly beautiful as always, still dressed like a punk wet dream with those killer blue eyes that Makoto thought about nearly constantly, and although his words and expressions matched his usual behavior, Makoto could definitely tell that there was something wrong with him.

He didn’t pry, though, because if Haruka wanted him to know something, he would tell him. That was the nature of their relationship. Makoto poured out his heart and soul to Haruka, and Haruka let him do it. Haruka took his pain and hopes and fears and joy and gave him somewhere to put it so that he didn’t have to hold onto all of it himself. But Haruka never gave him back those things in return.

“Would you like a drink?” Haruka asked him as they sat and looked over the menu.

Makoto looked up at his steely expression and felt extremely unsettled. It wasn’t the cool, collected expression that he typically wore, but something stonier, something clearly uncomfortable and guarded, and Makoto’s heart broke at the realization that he was likely causing that reaction in Haruka by inviting him out on a date.

“No, thank you,” he responded. “I think I’ll stick to soda tonight. Feel free to do the same,” he added on as Haruka exhaled slightly. The last statement dragged a full-fledged sigh out of him, but otherwise he didn’t comment.

When the waiter came, Haruka only ordered water to drink with his meal, and throughout dinner, he made sure the waiter kept his glass full. It reminded Makoto of something Haruka had told him the first night they met. Something about feeling the water. He wondered if it still counted if the water was on the inside.

They were mostly quiet throughout dinner, and although it wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, it certainly wasn’t _comfortable_ — not in the way that Makoto had grown used to drawing comfort from the boy. His previous resolve was crumbling quickly. Haruka didn’t want to be there with him; he was there because it was his job to say yes if a client called. It was his job to please, and when he gave Makoto his number that first night, he probably knew that it would eventually come to this. It made Makoto feel sick, and he was forced to abandon the last of his food as his stomach twisted in a way that made him feel nauseous. He shouldn’t have asked Haruka to come. He should have left it alone, should have continued to see him only at the club, or maybe brought him something to show that he cared rather than forcing him to work outside of work hours. He shouldn’t have expected Haruka to see him differently than any other creep who came onto him or demanded his attention, he should have—

“Makoto.” His downward spiral was interrupted by the soft, familiar voice across from him. It was strange to hear it so clearly, unimpeded by a thumping atmosphere strangled with shouts and clinking glassware and boisterous laughter. There, at the restaurant, it was peacefully quiet, and that alone was enough to unnerve Makoto even further. “Hey, are you okay?” the voice asked again. Dimly, Makoto was aware that he was supposed to answer, but all he could do was stare down at his food. He had done it again. He had messed something up somehow, made someone uncomfortable. He had probably done something totally out of line without even realizing it, only focused on himself and what he was feeling, _as usual_ — “MAKOTO.”

He snapped out of it, finally, only the urgency in Haruka’s voice bringing him back to the surface. He blinked up at his dinner guest, trying to mentally right himself so that he could complete the evening and send Haruka home.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, trying his best to sound casual, “I’ve been such a rude date.” He chuckled in a way that he knew would sound self-deprecating. “I invited you out and have hardly spoken to you.” Haruka’s expression twisted just slightly, but Makoto couldn’t read what was in it. He barreled onward. “Are you enjoying your food? I’ve never been here before, but it’s very good. Thank you for the recommendation.” Haruka glanced down at Makoto’s food and then back up at him, as if to wordlessly call him out for not even finishing it. Makoto waved him off. “It really is good! I was just feeling a bit sick earlier. I’m fine now, I’m sorry.” Then, to prove a point, he finished the rest of his meal while Haruka just watched him.

After he finished, Haruka took a long drink from his water glass, looking at him with that same wide-eyed innocent gaze that always had Makoto spilling his guts, scrutinizing him, trying to find something that Makoto wasn’t sure he had in him.

“I know you aren’t okay,” Haruka said slowly after a long look. “I’m not sure why, though, and I don’t know why you aren’t telling me.”

“I don’t want to burden you anymore,” Makoto said under the heavy gaze of those oversized eyes. They blinked, then narrowed.

“You aren’t burdening me,” Haruka replied cooly. “I didn’t have to come here. I could have told you no.”

Makoto thought about that for a little while without responding. He simply let his eyes roam over Haruka’s face, then his hair, then his long neck, and settle on his uncovered sleeve of ink. Haruka was lying. He _did_ have to come, but Makoto would make it worth his while.

When the check came, Makoto paid it, and Haruka didn’t reach for it to stop him. Good. No pretense. They parted at the door after a brief hug, and when Haruka asked if he would see him at their usual time next time, Makoto agreed. When Haruka was no longer in his sight, Makoto pulled out his phone again and sent Haruka a payment through LINE. Haruka accepted it, then sent back a single question mark.

**Makoto: For letting me take you out. It was my pleasure.**

He didn’t receive a response.

__________

Getting to know Makoto had been interesting. Haru was quite used to people wanting him, both physically and romantically, but he wasn’t really used to people trying to court him, if that was what was happening.

Makoto’s visits to the club had become understandably more frequent, and his purchases more grand. That was nothing new. It was normal that once a host gained a new regular, they would start bringing in a lot more money. Customers who were happy with their hosts tended to enjoy lavishing them with expensive liquor and extravagant gifts, and it seemed that Makoto was no exception.

No, the differences with Makoto were in the way that he treated Haru as a person. He bought the most expensive alcohol that the club had to offer, but he never made Haru drink it. He stopped him when he felt he’d had enough. He bought whole bottles just to have a couple of drinks.

He always asked Haru about his day, but he never pressed when Haru gave bottled responses. He talked about his own day and his feelings and all of his inner thoughts, much like many other customers before him, but he always thanked Haru for listening and smiled warmly at him, as if he were truly glad to be in Haru’s company.

After their first time out, Makoto didn’t ask him out again for a long time. One night, when the conversation shifted that direction, Makoto became visibly uncomfortable, as he always did when they got too close to discussing it, and he tried to change the subject. Curious, and if he were honest with himself, a little put off by the fact that Makoto always refused to talk about, Haru abandoned his duty to be ever-accommodating and asked him directly, “Was our date bad for you?”

Makoto, who Haru knew well enough by now was a devout people-pleaser, balked disbelievingly at the question and then immediately began to overcorrect.

“Of course not! No! I had a wonderful time with you, Haruka, I always do. You are such a kind person, and you always listen to me, and you’re so beautiful, please don’t think I could ever have a bad time with you, no, never.”

Haru couldn’t help but smile. Even through the thin veil of melancholy that Makoto pretty much always wore, Haru could sense the warmth and sincerity that he gave out so willingly. Not for the first time, Haru wondered why Makoto’s boyfriends never seemed to want to stick around. If Haru had any space in his life for romance… He cut off those thoughts before they could go any further. The fact was that he _didn’t_ have space in his life for that. He had obligations, he had bills to pay and customers to satisfy and a degree to complete. That was all he had room for.

“You haven’t asked me out again,” he bluntly observed. With any other client he would have let it slide, but truthfully, going out with Makoto had not been the exhausting affair that it normally was with other clients. He wouldn’t mind sitting quietly in a restaurant with him again, listening to the sound of his honeyed voice at a reasonable volume, taking in the sight of his gentle green eyes in the light where he could see how much they glistened when they looked at him, and not having to put on a show for his job.

Makoto’s expression grew sheepish and embarrassed. “I felt guilty for making you come out with me when you could have been enjoying your day off. I could tell you weren’t having a good time.” His eyes snapped up to meet Haru’s, and he reached a hand across the table, just short of touching Haru’s own. That was another thing that Haru really appreciated about Makoto — he never touched without permission. “But don’t worry about that,” he said with conviction. “I’ll keep coming here to see you. That won’t change just because I messed up one time. I want to treat you well, even if I can only do that here.”

Haru felt his heart stutter at Makoto’s heartfelt words. There was… too much there. Too much to unpack from just a few short sentences.

“I did have a good time,” he admitted, trying to muster up enough sincerity in his tone to express it to the broken man in front of him. He slid his hand closer to Makoto’s, just enough for their fingers to touch, and hooked one of his fingers with one of Makoto’s.

Makoto shook his head but latched onto the touch, reaching out even farther to clasp their hands together properly. “You don’t have to lie. I will still be here.”

“I’m not lying!” Haru cried, suddenly feeling desperate for Makoto to understand. Makoto’s eyes widened, and Haru tightened his grip on Makoto’s hand before he could pull away. “Makoto, you are wonderful. You are kind, and handsome, and even though you’re sad, I can see that there’s light in you. Don’t be afraid of me. You can ask me out again. I… I _want_ to go.”

There was a somewhat tense silence as Haru waited for Makoto to understand his words. He knew as soon as he’d said it that he shouldn’t have. He was crossing a line with his work. Hosts were not supposed to ask out their customers. The customers were supposed to come to them. Still, though, he felt no fear with Makoto. The problem, therefore, didn’t lie in his concern for his safety, but in blurring the relationship between host and client. Giving Makoto permission to ask him out, telling him that he _wanted_ to go out with him again, was barely a step away from asking him out directly, and he knew that would add a complicated layer to their relationship.

Haru had never been one to question his own decisions, though, and he had decided in that moment that he wanted to spend as much time with Makoto as possible. Makoto _was_ all of that things that Haru said he was, and he liked not having to pretend to enjoy his company like he did with everyone else he met through work. Makoto was so incredibly sweet and attentive, and even if he did tend to dump his feelings out onto Haru, he never expected Haru to carry his burdens or give him anything in return. It was clear that he just needed someone to listen, and that just being there was enough. It was simple, and Haru was complicating it, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret what he offered.

The tense silence slipped into a more comfortable one as Makoto fidgeted with Haru’s fingers, still connected across the table. Haru relaxed his hand and allowed Makoto the freedom to manipulate it as he pleased. The idle activity seemed to calm him — or maybe it was the physical touch, Haru couldn’t be sure — and Haru felt his heart grow a little lighter as a little bit of pain and shame slipped away from Makoto’s demeanor.

“Haruka,” Makoto said at long last, signature warm smile in place, “is it okay if I hold your hand when I see you?”

Haru nodded. He could allow Makoto that. If it helped him so much, he would readily give it.

“And, when we go out, could we do other things sometimes, too? Like see a movie? Or go to a skating rink?”

Haru couldn’t help but smile at Makoto’s innocent suggestions and nodded again, giving his fingers a little squeeze. “Sure. We can do whatever makes you happy.”

Makoto’s face tinged pink, difficult to see in the low lighting of the club, but there. “Could I put my arm around you sometimes, too? You know, just like if we were on a real date? Please?”

Haru nodded again, but had to put his foot down before it could go any farther. “You can do all of those things, but… no kissing, okay? I’m not sure I’m okay with that.”

Makoto agreed, looking resigned but overall content, and Haru counted it as a win. He felt a little bad, because he knew what Makoto was looking for, but there were some things he couldn’t give, especially if…

Well, that was neither here nor there. It didn’t matter, because it couldn’t happen. He didn’t have space in his life for it, and he had long ago learned that he wasn’t worth the trouble anyway.

__________

Their second date had been scheduled for Haruka’s next day off, and Makoto had felt a renewed sense of excitement as he approached their meeting place. He had sent Haruka his payment in advance, wanted to make sure he showed up even though he trusted that he would if he said he would, and Haruka had responded with a blue heart emoji. He had to keep reminding himself that it didn’t mean anything, but it was still more than he had gotten from the reserved boy in the past.

They had opted for dinner again, wanting to relish the ease of conversation in a less noisy and crowded place, and it went wonderfully. It was nothing like the first date, when Haruka had been stoic and uncommunicative. Instead, he was much more like the boy Makoto had fallen for in the club time and time again, maintaining eye contact as Makoto spoke, asking questions about his day and his life and his interests (whichever ones they hadn’t already talked about before at the club), and generally just being an absolutely perfect date.

Makoto felt himself smiling that evening more than he could remember smiling in weeks, maybe even months. He hadn’t dated anyone else since the last time he broke down in front of Haruka, and he was slowly coming to appreciate the weight that giving up had lifted from his heart.

Here he had a man who gave him his full attention, praised him, and even allowed him to show physical affection to him, and Makoto didn’t have to compromise anything for him. He could be exactly who he was, and sometimes Haruka would even reward him for it with a barely-there smile or a squeeze of the hand.

Their third date was at a movie theater. There was a nature documentary about Earth and its oceans, and Haruka had confided in Makoto that he had no one to go with. Makoto had been _delighted_ by the news, if not a little sad that Haruka didn’t seem to have anyone in his life to support him or spend time with him, and had readily agreed to see it as many times as Haruka wanted.

As it turned out, that number of times was four. Each time they went, he could see Haruka letting go around him more and more, smiling a little more easily and falling into comfortable and sometimes personal conversation either before or after the movie during dinner. During the movie, Makoto held Haruka’s hand or wrapped an arm around his shoulders. At their fourth viewing, Haruka cuddled in closer and lay his head on Makoto’s shoulder. Makoto felt happier than he had since well before his last breakup, when his last relationship had still been new and tender. He missed that feeling immensely, but with Haruka, he could have it back for a little while at a time.

They still didn’t talk much over messages. Haruka didn’t seem to care for his phone much. He responded quickly when Makoto asked for dates or sent him payments, so Makoto knew that he kept it with him in case he was needed for work, but his responses had become more casual and less polite. It felt more natural, somehow, for Haruka to only speak the bare minimum, and though it would seem to anyone else like Haruka was blowing him off, Makoto understood that he had just grown comfortable enough to behave more like himself and less like a host whose job it was to be polite and pleasant at all times.

Makoto still saw him at the club as often as possible, and while they were there, Haruka had to behave as he always had at work. It didn’t bother Makoto, though, because on Haruka’s days off, Makoto was able to see how he _really_ behaved. He finally felt like he was getting to know the real Haruka, rather than the host Haruka, and his quiet and sometimes taciturn tendencies did nothing to discourage Makoto’s blossoming feelings. On the surface, even if he seemed aloof or disinterested, he always ended up showing Makoto more kindness and compassion than anyone he had ever known. And the best part was that he knew that Haruka thought nothing of the things he said or the littlest actions he did, because it came naturally to Haruka to be a good person.

By the time they reached their tenth date, Makoto knew that he would never be able to go back to dating the way he used to. He had fallen completely for Haruka, and he knew he wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.

He also knew that Haruka was dating him for his job. He could never really have him.

__________

Haruka awoke with a groan and a sickness in the pit of his stomach that was not altogether related to last night’s meeting with Yamamoto, although the reminder in his backside didn’t help.

He rose and stumbled his way through his apartment to the bathroom to make himself sick. He thought he had purged all of the alcohol the night before, but the nausea and headache made him realize he had failed. By the time he finished and the nausea subsided, he was left with a shaky body and a sensitivity to even the smallest amount of light coming in through his bathroom window.

He had class in a couple of hours and work later that evening, but based on how he currently felt, there was no way he would be able to make it to either one. The idea sent a thrill of terror through him. If he missed work on such short notice, there was a chance he would be fired. He had never missed a night before, but he had heard of people being fired for less, and he really could not afford to lose the job. Even if Yamamoto still wanted to pay him for their nights out together, Haru didn’t think he’d be able to follow through with them without the looming possibility of being broke and unemployed if he rejected the nasty old man. If he was fired, he would lose all of the income he had. He wouldn’t be able to pay his bills. He might even get evicted from his apartment, since he wasn’t actually sure if it was in his name or Yamamoto’s.

Another ripple of nausea ran through him and he dry heaved into the toilet. There was nothing left to purge, and the taste of bile and stomach acid sat sticky in this throat and on his tongue.

He shook on the floor of his bathroom for a while, hungry and sick and in pain. His body ached, his head throbbed, his throat felt raw, and all he could think about was how much he wished he wasn’t alone. He wished he had a friend, or family, or someone to care for him.

Across the apartment, his phone chimed with a notification from LINE. That could only mean that someone else needed him. He prayed it wasn’t Yamamoto. He didn’t think he could handle seeing that man again for a long time.

Slowly, and carefully so as to not make himself sick again, he picked himself up and made it back to his bed, where his phone was plugged in and blinking menacingly at him. He sat, took a deep breath, lay back onto his pillow, and opened his messages. The dread was nearly enough to curdle his stomach all over again, but he swallowed the feeling down and unlocked his phone.

Relief flooded through him so quickly it nearly made his head spin. It wasn’t Yamamoto, or the woman with the children who took him out at strange hours, or the girl who only ever took him to cheap diners on her meager paycheck and still expected to be treated like a princess. After the relief, however, came the crash of disappointment. Of course it would be the one person with whom he actually _enjoyed_ spending time, and now he was going to have to say no.

For a moment he thought maybe he could do it after all, maybe just for a little while before going to work, but when he tried to sit up the aches in his head and backside flared up all over again.

Resigned, he made a call to his boss and explained that he had come down with something extremely contagious and that he wouldn’t be able to come in for fear that he would get the customers sick. It was maybe, definitely a lie, but framing it in the context of getting customers sick and losing money for the club was the only way he could think to try to keep his job. Mercifully, his boss told him not to come in again until he was sure he wasn’t contagious. Haru considered the possibility of skipping a few more days, too, just to let his body recover. He knew he drank too much, far too often, and the fucking was starting to leave him feeling damaged physically as well as emotionally.

After the successful call to work, he sent an email to his professors explaining the same thing and requesting information about any new assignments he might not be aware of by missing class. There were no new assignments, and he felt himself relax a little for the first time all morning with the knowledge that he really had all day to himself.

The problem he was facing at the moment was his inability to move. He felt dehydrated and ill, and he desperately needed water, which was an even farther walk than the bathroom, and he wasn’t sure if he would make it there. He was also acutely aware that he hadn’t eaten in at least a day. The previous day had truly been one of the worst days of his life, and he was still paying for it.

His inability to move only further reminded him of how alone he truly was. He couldn’t remember the last time he had invited someone into his home, always afraid of what they might do to him, or worse, that they would see him for who he really was and then leave. He had no friends to speak of, unless he counted Asahi and Kisumi, who spoke to him at the club when they worked together and seemed to like him well enough, but whom he had only seen outside of work once. He had once had friends in elementary and middle school, but they had all left him, too, once he couldn’t give them what they wanted. Fuck, his own parents had even left him once he got to high school. Sometimes, like when he was so sick and in so much pain that he could barely move, he really wanted his mom, but she hadn’t spoken to him since he started hosting, and he didn’t think she would even answer his call.

With a hard sigh, he brought his phone up to his face so that he could respond to the message. Even if it hurt him to turn away the only person who genuinely seemed to have a heart, there was nothing else he could do. Even if he was eventually able to get up and move around, maybe even leave the house, he would be terrible company. Just like their first date. The one that very nearly pushed Makoto away.

**Makoto: Good morning, Haruka! I was wondering if you’d like to see the botanical gardens with me today? There’s a restaurant nearby that serves really great mackerel!**

Haru’s heart throbbed painfully. It was such a sweet and innocent suggestion, he felt terrible for saying no.

**Haruka: I’m sorry, I’m sick. Another time.**

**Makoto: Oh no! I understand. I’m so sorry you aren’t feeling well. Is there anything I can do?**

**Haruka: I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.**

**Makoto: Do you have someone there to take care of you?**

Haru clutched the phone in his hand painfully tightly. _No_ , he wanted to say, _no I don’t, and I never will, so back off_. It hurt. It felt like being taunted for being a disappointment that no one could get past. He _knew_ that it wasn’t, knew that Makoto was just showing that he cared, but it didn’t change the stab of jealous pain that shot through him at the idea of having someone who gave a shit.

**Makoto: I’m sorry, that was out of line. I hope you feel better soon. Please let me know if you need anything.**

Haru didn’t respond. He just rolled over and allowed his body to carry him off into a miserable, dreamless sleep.

At least when he didn’t dream, he didn’t have to deal with any reminders of what he couldn’t have for a few blissful hours.

__________

Makoto was in his apartment with Asahi and Kisumi on a rare day off for the three of them. He had been disappointed, of course, when Haruka turned him down for a date, but it had been a while since he had seen his friends, so he took the opportunity as it arose.

They were seated on the floor, enjoying some takeout from Kisumi’s favorite place and trading stories about work. Makoto’s stories could only be called mundane next to the outrageous tales of hosting that Kisumi and Asahi wove, but they seemed to enjoy hearing about his plain and uneventful life as much as he liked hearing about the funny parts of theirs.

It was refreshing to be around people who knew him well and treated him like a person worth knowing. Although he often got the same treatment from Haruka, there was always the underlying knowledge that Haruka _had_ to treat him that way, so he had no way of knowing for sure if he really believed any of the things he said.

“And then she turned to the other woman and dumped _the entire bottle_ over her head. It was amazing!” Kisumi laughed, drawing a loud cackle from Asahi as well.

“I can’t believe I missed this! Why haven’t you told me this story before?”

“I felt so bad!” Kisumi explained. “That woman had probably had a terrible day and came to be doted on and spoiled and treated like a desirable woman for _one night_ , and instead she went home sticky, sober, and smelling like hot sake.”

“You’re right, that’s not a great smell,” Asahi snorted.

“Poor woman,” Makoto lamented. “Has she ever come back?”

Kisumi shrugged. “I’m not sure. It would probably be hard to recognize her now, but I doubt it.”

“That’s so sad.” Makoto frowned. If he had been driven away from the club on his first night there, his life would be so much worse. Haruka had really helped to turn things around for him. He felt better about himself than he had in years, and although it was all fake, feeling like someone wanted and needed him filled him with a sense of pride that he had _never_ felt before meeting Haruka.

Something must have shown on his face, because the conversation abruptly turned away from the sad woman covered in sake to teasing Makoto relentlessly about his host.

Asahi nudged him a couple of times with a sharp elbow. “I bet you’re thinking you want Haru to poor hot sake all over you, aren’t you?”

Makoto flushed deeply; he hadn’t been thinking about that at all, but once they image was in his mind, it was kind of hard to get rid of it. “No,” he replied petulantly. Asahi roared with laughter.

“He was definitely thinking about Haru,” Kisumi unhelpfully added. “He had that dopey look on his face that always gives away when he’s thinking about Haru.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true! Every time something even remotely related to hosting or Haru comes up, you look like a lovesick fool. It’s adorable.”

Asahi snorted. “Almost as lovesick as—OW!” His statement was cut off as Kisumi pinched him hard on the arm.

“He doesn’t need to hear about all that, now does he, Asahi?” Although the question seemed polite enough, the intense glare that he leveled at Asahi clearly meant _shut up or I’ll pinch you where it hurts._ Makoto was going to ask what they were talking about when the message chime went off from his phone on the table. A glance down at the screen had him forgetting about the conversation instantly.

He snatched the phone off the table and fumbled to unlock it. It was the first time he had ever gotten a message without first sending a question or something else that required a response. However, the shock of that could not compare to the shock he felt after opening the message.

**Haruka: come over**

Makoto stared dumbly at his phone until Kisumi eventually reached over and plucked it from his hands.

“No way,” he breathed under his breath, then showed the phone to Asahi.

“Holy shit.”

Makoto recovered when he realized he was no longer actually looking at anything and reached across the table to snatch his phone back and thumb out a reply as quickly as possible.

**Makoto: Are you okay?**

**Makoto: Haruka? I’m worried.**

**Haruka: please**

**Makoto: Are you sure?**

**Haruka: have the door man call me when you get here**

**Makoto: Okay, Haruka. Hang on. I’ll be there as soon as possible. Where do you live?**

After about ten minutes, Makoto was becoming restless. The response never came through, so he had no way of knowing how to get to Haruka, but Haruka had never asked him for anything before, and he _needed_ to be there for him. He had promised to be there as soon as possible, and frankly, he was extremely worried about the fact that Haruka had asked for help and then stopped responding.

In the end, Asahi took pity on him and walked him to Haruka’s building on his way back to his own.

__________

When Haru awoke to find a glass of water near his bed, he didn’t question it. He just praised every god he could think of that he had somehow managed to wake up and drag himself to the kitchen. His self-preservation instincts must have kicked in at some point, and he just couldn’t remember because of the state of exhaustion he was in.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so long. Although it wasn’t the best sleep, at least it was sleep, and clearly his body was trying to claim all of it that it could, trying to force him to allow himself to recuperate instead of pushing and pushing and never giving himself a break.

He sipped the water carefully at first, but it was so soothing running over his still-burning throat, down his esophagus and settling in his stomach, that after a few sips he greedily chugged the whole thing before sinking back into the warmth of his comforter. He wished he had another glass or four, but it was apparent that he wouldn’t be able to get up himself to get it. He wasn’t even sure how he’d done it the first time.

When he woke up again, there was a fresh glass next to his bedside again, and Haru wondered if he was hallucinating or having very strangely specific desires fulfilled in his dreams as he finished off the second glass almost just as quickly.

The third time he woke up, sometime just before sunset, judging by the color of the sky outside his window, he felt well enough to sit up and stretch a bit. There was yet another glass on his nightstand, and beside that, an enticing bowl of warm soup. His stomach gurgled loudly when the smell hit his nose. It was probably what had woken him up.

Although he knew he should probably be nervous or afraid that there was some sort of phantom in his apartment feeding and hydrating him, he wasn’t able to feel anything other than hunger and extreme gratitude.

He sat up slowly and was relieved and pleased to find that his nausea had finally subsided. The little light that seeped in through his window didn’t bother him, either, and as he drained his third glass of water, his stomach growled again, louder and more angrily, indicating that it was finally time to eat. He sipped the soup as quickly as his overworked body would allow him to without getting sick. It tasted good. He tried not to think about how it reminded him of his mother’s when he was a child.

After he finished eating, the ache of his bones and stiffness of his muscles convinced him to get up and stretch. He did, popping the bones in his back and stretching his arms high above him, body extended through the tips of his toes. With one last long sigh to release the tension from his limbs, he left his bedroom to put away his dishes.

He startled violently as his living room came into view. The movement and the jangle of the spoon against the bowl made his guest startle, too, and he whipped his head up to meet Haru’s eyes. Suddenly, the mysterious waters and phantom food delivery fell into place in the logical part of Haru’s brain that made him realize that he really should have thought more about it before that moment.

“How did you get up here?” Haru tactlessly asked. His voice was gravelly from disuse and raw from the hell of the night before, the retching, and the dehydration. He cleared his throat as embarrassment bloomed across his features.

Makoto looked back at him, the absolute picture of confusion. “You invited me?” Haru blinked. That didn’t sound like something he would do. Makoto seemed to understand as his face morphed from bewildered to vaguely disappointed. “You messaged me earlier today and asked if I could come over. You told me to have the doorman call you when I arrived, so I did, and when you answered you allowed him to buzz me upstairs.”

Without responding, Haru turned on his heel and stalked back toward his room, tearing the blankets on his bed apart until he found his phone. He immediately opened his messages to be met with a conversation he couldn’t even recall having. In a daze, he walked back into the living room. Makoto was there, standing form where he had been seated on the sofa, looking nervous and uncomfortable and ready to bolt.

“Sit down.”

Makoto sat.

Haru took a deep breath and glanced back down at his messages to verify that he had never actually given Makoto his address. “How did you find my apartment? Are you following me?”

“No!” Makoto stood again took a couple of steps back from Haru with his hands up in surrender. “I swear I didn’t know before today.”

“ _How_ did you know?” Haru pressed. Makoto swallowed but did not answer the question. “Tell me or I’m calling security,” he threatened, raising his phone to prove his point.

“Okay!” Makoto gasped. “Okay, please don’t. I’ll leave.” He began to slowly make his way around the couch, hands still raised, as he headed toward the front door. “I’m really sorry,” he said. His voice was mournful and his eyes full of remorse. “I shouldn’t have come. I was just… worried. You’ve never asked me for anything before.”

He hovered with his hand on the doorknob, like he was waiting for Haru to ask him not to leave. It was irritating but also… sad. God, how was someone so kind always so sad?

“Wait,” Haru called, resigned. “Don’t got. Just tell me how you got here. I won’t be mad.”

Makoto looked hesitant, but eventually pulled his hand away from the door and faced Haru as he spoke toward the ground. “Asahi showed me.”

Haru deflated instantly. Of _course_ it had been one of Makoto’s friends. They knew where he lived because of the last time someone had gotten into his apartment. They had come and helped him check the place after the man had been taken away and he was too shaken to do it himself. Hosts had each other’s backs. He should have known.

“I’m sorry,” Haru quietly conceded. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you when I asked you to come.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“It was no trouble. Are you feeling better?” Haru heard the warmth in Makoto’s question. He had finally looked up again, sadness still lingering in his eyes, but looking significantly less stressed. Haru sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him to indicate that Makoto should sit down. He did as he was told.

“A lot better. Thank you.”

“Any time.”

They sat in silence for a little while as Haru laid back and flattened himself into the sofa. Makoto sat straight beside him, clearly not wanting to get too comfortable. Haru felt a strong pang of guilt, knowing that he had upset the sweet boy and made him feel unwelcome after a long day of taking care of him.

It was nice, when he stopped to think about it, having someone around who would come when he called. It had been a long time since he had asked anyone for anything, and even longer since someone had actually come.

“Did you make the soup?”

Makoto huffed a breath that sounded like a laugh. “No, I went downstairs and asked the doorman where I should get some, and he told me a restaurant you liked. He called it in for me and let me wait with him. He’s very nice. Seems to like you a lot.”

“He’s a good guy. He’s been here since… well, he’s been here for a while. He looks out for me.”

There was more silence, more comfortable than the last one, but still awkward. Finally, Makoto seemed to make a decision and relaxed back into the couch. Their shoulders brushed. Haru didn’t move away.

“Haruka—”

“Haru.”

“…Is that okay?”

“I just said it’s okay.

Makoto smiled shyly. “Right, of course.” He shift uncomfortably, shuffling his feet and wiping his palms on his dress pants. The movement shifted them closer so that they were touching in even more places, but again, Haru didn’t move away. “Haru, I was just wondering, did something happen?”

Haru wanted to flinch, but in truth, he had been expecting the question. Makoto wasn’t someone who pushed or pried, but he worried. Haru was familiar with that part of him.

He sighed. “When?”

“Last night? This morning?” Makoto asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Just in general?”

“Yeah.”

Haru left it at that. In some twisted way, he _wanted_ Makoto to push and pry. He didn’t want to give away anything without being asked, and generally he wouldn’t even then, but he knew that if Makoto asked him, he would answer.

“Are you hurt?”

Haru turned his head enough to meet Makoto’s eyes. They really were lovely, so green and expressive, but always clouded with doubt and fear and loneliness. “Yeah, a little.” Green eyes grew wide, then narrowed.

“Someone hurt you?”

Haru shrugged. “It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

Makoto shifted his body toward Haru and made a motion like he was going to reach out and touch him, his knee or his hand or something, but then withdrew it again. His droopy eyes were full of questions as they darted back and forth between Haru’s.

“Haru, I heard a story once, from Asahi and Kisumi…” Haru drew a long, deep breath. “It was about a host who was followed home to his apartment by a client.” He held the breath in. “I don’t know what happened, but… I know it was pretty horrible.” Haru started to slowly release the breath he was holding. “Do you know when that was?”

Haru finished his exhale and then stared into Makoto’s eyes for a significant pause before stating, very quietly, “Right around the time I got a new doorman.”

Makoto’s face crumbled. It was almost impressive how fast his eyes filled with tears, tears _for Haru._ The first tear fell, and Makoto made to reach out for Haru again, and again drew his hand back before he could touch. It was hard to watch. Makoto wanted to comfort him so badly. He felt something so deeply that Haru couldn’t understand it, didn’t know why Makoto was so upset for him, didn’t understand what was hurting him so much.

The tears continued to fall, and Haru wasn’t sure what to do. Haru had barely said anything. Had Makoto really been able to pick up on all of the implications of that statement alone? Or was he really just that upset that someone had followed him home once?

“Hey,” he soothed, and he finally, _finally_ reached out for Makoto’s hand himself. Makoto clutched it like a lifeline. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Makoto shook his head, despaired. “No. You wouldn’t have messaged me if you were. And I’m just so sorry about what you’ve been through. You don’t deserve it. I’m so sorry.” Haru’s stomach turned. He had seen Makoto sad for himself more times than he could count, but he had never seen him so broken before. He simultaneously felt so grateful that someone could feel so much for him, and so gutted that his pain was causing such a beautiful person so much heartache.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered through a lump in his throat. “Please.” It was too much. He pulled Makoto into himself and let the boy weep on his shoulder as he stroked his hair.

“I’m so sorry,” Makoto choked out between sobs. “I should be comforting you.” He sniffed. “It’s not fair to you. I’m so selfish. I’m sorry.” Despite his words, he continued to sob and hiccup into Haru’s shirt. Haru latched onto the word _selfish_. It lit a fire in him. Makoto was the most unselfish person he had ever met. He gave himself so completely and never asked for anything in return except a little bit of company, which he paid for. He came to Haru’s apartment when Haru asked, and he sat there the whole day while Haru slept. He would have left without so much as a “thank you” if Haru had told him to go. For him to call himself _selfish_ made Haru twitch with irritation and mourn for Makoto’s past. All of those other men had _never_ been good enough for Makoto. They had wrecked him, and now he had no idea how completely _good_ he was. Haru could have killed them.

He pulled Makoto closer and trailed his hand between Makoto’s hair and shoulder blades. Sometimes he stopped to scratch Makoto’s neck soothingly or rub little circles on his back. Sometimes he petted Makoto’s hair and let the thick strands run through his fingers. Mostly, he let Makoto get it all out. He held him close and let him know that he was there, and he was okay, and that he didn’t need to worry anymore.

__________

“How did it go with Haru?” Asahi asked a few days later as they were having lunch together.

Makoto shrugged. How had it gone? He had made it all about himself again. Haru had been sick, and hurting, and in pain, and Makoto had forced him to comfort _him_ , instead of being there for Haru like he was supposed to be.

“I think I messed up again,” he sighed. “He deserves so much better than me.”

Asahi’s eyes softened and he put down his chopsticks. “Don’t say that. You’re a really great guy.”

Makoto’s lips twitched up into a wry smile. He didn’t believe that for a second, but he didn’t argue. “Thanks.”

“Makoto, what’s going on? Are you okay? Do I need to kick Haru’s ass when I see him?”

Makoto’s eyes flew up to Asahi’s, any hint of a smile evaporating, replaced with a fierceness he didn’t know he had in him. “No! Don’t touch him!”

Asahi recoiled. “Hey man, it’s just a saying. I wouldn’t.”

Makoto’s grip was tight around his chopsticks, which he set down before he could snap them in half. He watched Asahi for a moment longer before he deflated.

“Yeah, sorry. I know you wouldn’t.”

“What the hell is going on with you? What happened with Haru?”

Makoto sighed heavily and lifted the heels of his hands to rub his eyes. “He’s been through too much,” he said by way of explanation. “I want to be there for him, but he deserves better than me. I know he does, and he knows it, too.”

Asahi’s eyes narrowed. “Did he say that to you?”

“No.” He sighed again. It was becoming a pattern. “But he does know. It’s okay, though. I knew what this was… is. He’s just a host and I’m just his client. I pay him, and he’s nice to me. That’s all it is. I don’t need anything else.”

“Damn it, Makoto…”

Makoto removed his hands from his eyes and observed Asahi. He was tense and clearly irritated, and although Makoto wasn’t sure what he said wrong, he was impressed that Asahi was holding his temper in as well as he was.

“What?” he asked.

Asahi took a few calming breaths. “Look at me, Makoto.” Makoto complied. “What do you know about him?”

“Well,” Makoto hedged, considering. “I know how much he loves the water, but he rarely gets to swim. I know his favorite foods, his favorite drinks, what he likes to read, that he doesn’t watch TV unless he’s up late and can’t sleep. I know where he lives now.” He paused for a moment. “I know that he’s the one you and Kisumi mentioned before. The one that was harassed by his client.”

Asahi nodded. “What else?”

“He’s… really sweet. He’s quiet when he’s not working. He’s kind and cares about people, but I don’t think he cares a lot about himself. He’s been through too much, I think. I don’t know what, though.” Makoto frowned. It still bothered him immensely. He had understood enough from his brief conversation with Haru to know that he had a hard life. The implications of what a man breaking into his apartment meant, and the fact that he was used to being hurt… they weren’t good.

“Okay.” Asahi seemed content with his answers. “Just one more thing.”

“What?”

Asahi leveled him with a hard stare. “Are you in love with him?”

Makoto wasn’t sure why Asahi was asking. Wasn’t it obvious? “Yes.”

__________

Everything was a blur when Haru woke up. The room reeked of whiskey and sweat. He didn’t remember drinking whiskey. He blinked blearily as he tried to regain consciousness. The light from the window was bright — it was probably late morning or midday. The surface he was lying on was rough and scratchy. It irritated his bare skin. He attempted to move his arm to find his phone, but it was too heavy. He faded back into unconsciousness.

When he came to again, his body was less heavy but noticeably battered. There was a pounding on the door that reflected the pounding in his head.

“Stop,” he groaned weakly. The person pounding on the door didn’t hear him.

He rose and found his pants. Pulling them up over his hips made him acutely aware of the searing pain in his ass. He nearly crumpled to the floor but managed to remain standing. A few steadying breaths later, he walked over to the door to get the pounding to stop.

When he pulled it open, he was nearly met with the fist of a hotel worker mid-pound. The worker froze and took in Haru’s state. Haru didn’t know what he looked like, but the sentence that came out of the worker’s mouth made him think it probably wasn’t great.

“Do I need to call the police?”

Haru attempted to shrug, but his shoulders and back protested the motion. “I don’t know.”

The worker looked horrified and unsure what to do. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

Haru didn’t know why it was any of the worker’s concern where he went, but he nodded anyway. “I have an apartment.” The worker sighed in relief but didn’t look any more comfortable with the situation.

“I can call the police if you need me to, but I need you to vacate the room. I’m really sorry.”

Haru nodded. “I just need to get dressed.”

The worker nodded as well and allowed Haru to close to door and collect his things.

The walk to the lobby was excruciating. His back, hips, and ass were in so much pain that standing was a chore. He was positive he wouldn’t make it back to his apartment.

Tears threatened his stinging eyes. He was tired of it. He was tired of waking up feeling like a used toy. He hated himself, hated his life, hated Yamamoto or whoever the fuck had chewed him up and spit him out this time. He was sick of hosting. He was sick of drinking and flirting and getting fucked over in every conceivable way. He hated the humiliation of being woken up at three in the afternoon by a hotel worker who didn’t get paid enough to handle it. He hated being scrutinized by a stranger. He hated that anyone could look at him and see someone who needed to be helped. He hated that he wasn’t even a fucking person anymore. He was _nothing_.

As he sat in the lobby, he realized he didn’t know what to do. Yes, he _did_ have somewhere he could go — he could go back to the apartment he lived in courtesy of a probably-rapist who never gave a shit about what he did to Haru every time they were together — but the idea of stepping foot back in that place was too much. The hotel staff was staring him down, though, and not too subtly, and he knew he needed to leave.

With a heavy heart, he pulled out his phone, opened LINE, and dialed the only contact he could trust. It rang twice before it connected.

“ _Haru?_ ”

Haru drew a shaky breath. “Makoto.”

“ _Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?_ ” Makoto was panicking; Haru could hear it, but he couldn’t stop it, because he was on the verge of panicking too.

“A-are you busy?”

“ _No. What can I do?_ ”

There was a shuffling sound in the background, and something that sounded like a door or drawer closing.

“Can you come get me?”

“ _Of course. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you?_ ”

“I’ll send you the address. Just… please hurry.”

“ _Send it now. Don’t hang up the phone. I’m coming._ ”

Haru obeyed Makoto’s request and typed the hotel’s address into their message chain, then brought the phone back to his ear.

“ _Okay, I got it. I’ll be there as soon as I can. What can you tell me?_ ”

“Um.” He drew another shaky breath, feeling less stable all the time. With Makoto on the phone, promising him that he would come for him and help him, he felt overwhelmed. “Um,” he repeated. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the oncoming tears. “It hurts,” he whispered. He knew he sounded wrecked. He _felt_ wrecked.

“ _What hurts, Haru? Talk to me, please. I’m not far._ ”

He nodded, even though he knew Makoto couldn’t see him. His eyes were still screwed shut as he tried to make the words come out. “My… body. I don’t think I can walk.”

Makoto was quiet for just a second, and then Haru heard him suck in a loud breath. “ _Is it your legs?_ ” His voice was steady, much calmer than Haru would have expected. It helped a little. If Makoto was calm, maybe he could hold it together.

“No, they’re not… um, nothing is broken. It just hurts to walk.”

“ _Okay. Don’t move. I’m getting there as fast as I can, Haru. Just hang on._ ”

Haru nodded again, and the tears started flowing. He was scared. He was relieved. He was confused. He was in pain.

“ _Haru,_ ” Makoto’s voice floated across the line again, and that time Haru could hear the fear in it. “ _Everything is going to be okay. I promise. I’m almost there._ ”

Haru gave up the fight against his tears and accepted Makoto’s comfort over the line until he arrived.

He was hunched in a chair in a corner of the lobby when Makoto burst through the door.

“Haru!” Makoto’s eyes were wild when they landed on Haru, and Haru had nothing left in him to try to ease his obvious terror. “Oh god, Haru.”

His tears kept falling as he accepted Makoto’s help walking out to the waiting taxi. Makoto sat with him in the back seat and kept him pulled protectively to his side.

“Haru, where do you want to go? Can you give the driver your address?” Haru shook his head hard enough that his back ached in protest and he had to huddle closer to Makoto to soothe the pain. “Okay, it’s okay. Do you want to go to the hospital?” He shook his head again. “Do you want to come back to my place?” He nodded his agreement, and Makoto gave the address to the driver.

Haru only turned further into Makoto and clutched his shirt for purchase. The arm around his back made him feel safe and protected; the thumb stroking his shirt collar grounded him. The whole way there, Makoto dropped soft kisses against his hairline and the crown of his head. It was soothing in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a child when his mother still loved him.

__________

Makoto had never been more grateful for an elevator in his apartment complex in his entire life. In just the short drive to his apartment, Haru had cried himself to exhaustion and fallen asleep against Makoto’s side. Makoto had been too heartbroken for the boy to try to wake him, so instead he scooped him into his arms and carried him the rest of the way inside to his bed. For a small boy, he was surprisingly muscular, and his sleeping dead weight was heavier than he looked.

He called Asahi as soon as Haru was situated in his bed, but he couldn’t go far. Even in his sleep, Haru had a death grip on Makoto’s shirt, and Makoto didn’t have the heart to leave him when he clearly needed the closeness.

Makoto was close to panicked. Haru was obviously heavily injured. He needed to go to the hospital, but Makoto would let him rest and collect himself first. They would go when he was more calm. For the moment, he needed to figure out his next move.

“Asahi,” he said as soon as the call connected. “It’s Haru. He’s hurt, and I can’t leave him.”

“ _What?! What happened?_ ”

“I don’t know. He couldn’t tell me. We’re at my place. Please come over, and bring Kisumi.”

He didn’t wait for Asahi’s answer and hung up the phone.

They were both there less than half an hour later, looking as frantic as Makoto felt. He had left the door unlocked and they let themselves him.

“Makoto!” he heard Kisumi call. Asahi wasn’t far behind.

“Makoto! Haru!”

They burst into his room and Makoto frantically _shushed_ them before they could wake Haru, who had startled in his sleep at the noise and pulled Makoto closer. Makoto watched as his friends took in Haru’s state: the bruises on his wrists and hips, visible where his shirt rode up; bags under his eyes, shaky breathing and pallid complexion; he watched as the severity of the situation caught up to them.

“What happened?” Kisumi asked, looking and sounding every bit like a scared kid. Makoto gestured for them to sit in front of him, and they did, ready to listen.

“He called me while I was at work. It was horrible. You should have heard him, Kisumi. He sounded so lost and afraid. So I left to go find him, and when I did, he refused to go back to his apartment. He hasn’t let go of me since.” He attempted to swallow down the lump that had lodged itself large and heavy in his throat. His voice came out thick as he continued talking. “I’m so scared,” he whispered. “I just need him to be okay.”

Kisumi rose to sit beside him on the bed and draped an arm across his shoulder to bring him into a hug.

“He’ll be okay, Makoto. He has you. You won’t let anything happen to him.”

“I already did,” Makoto sobbed. “Look at him.”

“There’s no way you could have prevented this,” Asahi assured. He rose as well and began to search Haru for anymore noticeable injuries without touching him too much or exposing him indecently. “There’s more bruising around his back and shoulders, but other than being a bit painful, I don’t think they look serious. Kisumi?”

Kisumi released Makoto and took Asahi’s place examining Haru. “Yeah, I think Asahi is right. He’ll be okay. But you should take him to get checked out when you can.”

“I will,” Makoto vowed.

Kisumi retook his spot on the floor beside Asahi. “So, what do you need from us?”

Makoto took a deep breath. He knew what he needed to do. “I need you to help me get Haru out of there.”

“Makoto…”

“No. He can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch him do this anymore. I can’t find him passed out or crying or cowering ever again. I can’t take it!”

“Okay! Easy, you’ll wake him up,” Asahi soothed.

Makoto immediately turned his attention back to the figure curled next to him. His face was twitching, pinched up in anxiety even as he slept, and Makoto choked out another pained sob. The fingers in his shirt tightened.

“Thanks for coming,” he addressed to his friends. “I’m not sure how long he’ll be out…”

“We’ll wait in the living room,” Asahi promised. “We’ll order in something to eat in a little while.”

“Just stay with him. Don’t worry about us,” Kisumi added as they walked away and shut the door behind them. Makoto had never felt less deserving of such wonderful friends as he did at that moment, looking at the broken boy he loved.

He readjusted himself to lie next to Haru and wrap an arm around his waist. Haru subconsciously curled into him. His heart thumped painfully at the neediness. The hand clutching his shirt never let go, but as Makoto lay beside with his lips pressed to Haru’s forehead, he felt Haru uncoil little by little, until they both slept uneasily, wrapped up in each other for comfort.

__________

_Warm_.

That was the first thing that registered when Haru awoke. The second thing was the pain radiating from most of his body. He sought out the warmth that surrounded him, hoping for a bit of reprieve.

The next thing he noticed was the smell. It was a bit musky, but pleasant, like rose petals and rain water. It comforted him. He liked the smell of rain.

He wasn’t alarmed when the warmth moved. There was no threat, he determined; it didn’t smell like a threat or feel like a threat, so he allowed himself to pull it closer, and it obliged by wrapping him up even more tightly, more protectively, and he fell into a second fit of much more restful sleep.

The warmth was still there when he woke up again, but his body felt significantly less sore. Although it would probably still hurt to twist certain ways and his lower body still throbbed dully, his muscles felt more relaxed, and he was able to stretch a little bit without wincing.

He blinked the sleep away from his eyes slowly, allowing himself to come back into the world at his own pace. A hand was caressing the hair on the back of his head, and as he breathed in deeply, he smelled the comfortable rose petal and rainwater scent that he remembered from earlier. It was so comfortable, and it made him mourn for all of the years gone by that he never experienced anything like it.

“G’morning,” he rumbled. He didn’t bother to clear his throat. Too much effort.

“Hey,” Makoto murmured from above. “Are you awake?” Haru nodded. “Do you think you can stomach something to eat?” He nodded again and sat up to get a better stretch.

When he looked at Makoto, he wasn’t surprised to see concern and fear still etched into his features, but the unadulterated affection that poured from Makoto did surprise him a little. No one had ever looked at him like that before. His chest ached with longing for that look to stay with him. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve it from someone so good, but he wanted to keep it in his pocket and pull it out any time he felt like less than a person.

“What?” Makoto said, the corner of his lips curling up just enough to relieve his frown. Haru figured his facial expression must have given away his sappy thoughts, but he didn’t care. He was too tired and too broken to pretend anymore that he didn’t care way too much about the man beside him.

“I… I appreciate you being here with me,” he simply replied. He knew it couldn’t even begin to cover the depth of his gratitude, but it was a start.

“Anything for you, Haru.” Makoto’s smile was honey-sweet and entirely genuine, and for the first time since he had left his parents’ house all those years ago, he felt something that felt like home.

__________

Makoto left Haru to freshen up for a few minutes as he talked with Asahi and Kisumi. While he and Haru had been asleep, Asahi had gone for food and stockpiled tons of extra water and whatever non-perishable goods he had time to snag, and Kisumi had run out to get Haru a toothbrush, a loofah, and even a pack of underwear. Makoto didn’t want to know why Kisumi knew what size underwear Haru wore, and he wasn’t likely to tell Haru they had bought it for him until he was sure that Haru would want to stay for a couple of days. Still, it was a nice gesture, and Makoto appreciated his two friends more than they would ever know.

Haru came shuffling out not long after Makoto and sat gingerly in a chair at the table. Makoto observed him for a few seconds as he went to join him. He still looked tense, like moving was hard for him, but his face looked significantly better — that is, his expression was one of resignation rather than twisted up in horror and grief.

He didn’t touch Haru, but he stayed close as Asahi and Kisumi sat at the other side of the table. If Haru was surprised to see them there, he didn’t give anything away.

“Haru,” Makoto started, breaking what was quickly becoming an uncomfortable silence. “Do you need somewhere to stay?”

Haru’s eyes lifted to Makoto’s from where they had been focused on the table in front of him. He looked so _tired_. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, and with another horrible wave of guilt, Makoto realized that probably wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

Haru shrugged one shoulder and flicked his gaze to his lap, where he was twiddling his fingers nervously. It wasn’t a habit Makoto was familiar with, but that was likely because Haru had been putting on an act around him for so long. It softened some of his pain to realize that Haru wasn’t putting on an act anymore. Slowly, testing the waters, he placed one large hand over Haru’s, stilling the nervous motion. After the briefest hesitation, Haru turned his hand over and laced his fingers with Makoto’s. Although they had held hands plenty of times on their dates, it felt different. Although he didn’t dare hope it quite yet, it felt real.

Haru sighed and looked up toward Kisumi and Asahi. They had yet to speak but had been watching Haru just as closely as Makoto. Kisumi leaned forward to indicate that Haru had his full attention. Asahi leaned back more casually, but nodded encouragingly as he locked eyes with Haru. They were there for him. All three of them, he needed to know, were there just for him.

At long last, Haru spoke.

“Do you remember my first regular client?” Asahi and Kisumi shared a look, then returned their attentions to Haru and nodded. “Do you know why he stopped coming to the club?” They both shook their heads slowly. The dread grew inside Makoto at the nauseous expressions on their faces. “He was arrested. One night during one of our dates. Someone saw us in an alleyway and called the police. I had to come back to work the next day. I didn’t want anyone to find out because I thought I would be fired, so I used putty and extra concealer to hide the scratches on my face for over a week until they healed.”

Makoto squeezed his hand tightly. He felt like he was going to shake apart at the thought of someone taking Haru that way, hurting him, abusing him for their own disgusting pleasure. Kisumi looked like he was trying his best to hold back tears while Asahi looked like he was barely containing his rage. Makoto sucked in a long, slow breath to try to gather himself as Haru continued. He couldn’t make it about himself, not again.

“You know Yamamoto,” he said this time. “The middle-aged man who wears the bad suits.” They both nodded again. “He’s become… much angrier, lately.” Then, more quietly, as if he were ashamed to admit it, “I was with him last night.”

Asahi shoved back from the table with a piercing scrape of the chair against the floor and began to pace.

“Fuck!”

“Asahi…” Kisumi stood and tried to calm him, but Asahi shrugged off the comfort.

“That motherfucker. He’s disgusting! The way he looks at Haru like a piece of meat, always walking around like he owns the fucking club. I should have… God damn it!” He stopped pacing and braced himself against the wall, taking deep, unsteady breaths as he tried to tame his rage.

“Asahi, you didn’t know,” Kisumi soothed. “None of us knew.”

Makoto turned to look at Haru, who was already looking back at him. He made a conscious effort to loosen his hold on Haru’s hand so that he could stroke a soothing thumb across the back of it. Haru leaned into him, eyes wet and expression open and vulnerable, and Makoto was completely weak to it. He lifted his unoccupied hand and brought it Haru’s face to stroke his cheek. It was soft, and smooth, and so sweet, and when Haru leaned into his touch, Makoto knew that he would do anything, _anything_ to make sure he never saw that boy broken again.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he whispered. “I’m going to make sure no one _ever_ hurts you again.”

Haru’s enormous blue eyes shone with a swirl of emotions. “How?”

It seemed that Kisumi had finally managed to calm Asahi down, and they both rejoined the conversation. Makoto knew how it would sound if he offered; it would sound like he wanted to get Haru away from one life of servitude just to pull him into another, but that wasn’t going to happen.

“Haru,” Kisumi implored, “you don’t have to do this anymore. We’re all worried about you. We hate seeing you like this. You don’t have to host anymore or see those awful men ever again.”

“I need the money.”

Makoto stroked his fingers through Haru’s hair. “I can help you with school, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have the money. I don’t need it all. You can finish school and go on to do the amazing things that I know you’re capable of. _You_ are amazing, Haru, and you deserve to be happy and to have a good life.”

Haru shook his head. “I can’t. It’s not just school. I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“What else is there?” Asahi interjected.

Haru fidgeted for a moment with Makoto’s fingers. “My apartment,” he said. “Yamamoto bought it for me. I can’t go back there.”

“Stay with me,” Makoto offered. When Haru said nothing, he continued. “I will never expect anything of you, ever, Haru. You’re free to do anything you like. I’ll get you a key and a bed, and you can come and go as you please. If you find another place you want to stay, you can leave.”

Haru still looked hesitant, and Makoto understood, but there was also hopefulness behind his eyes.

“Makoto is a good man, Haru.” Kisumi stood from where he was seated and moved to crouch next to Haru. “But if you’re ever worried about anything, you can come to me or Asahi, and we’ll help you. We care about you, too.”

Haru’s eyes began to fill with tears at Kisumi’s heartfelt words. Makoto gave his hand a reassuring squeeze to draw Haru’s attention back to him.

“I just want you to be happy,” he said earnestly. “I’m not offering you a job, Haru-chan. I’m offering you a home. You’ll be safe here. I promise.”

As the tears started to fall from Haru’s eyes, and Makoto felt his own eyes sting with tears soon to follow, he leaned forward to place a sweet kiss on Haru’s forehead.

“I love you.”

__________

Quitting the club was easier than Haru had ever expected it to be. Of course, hosts were not required to stay. They could leave any time; but of course, most hosts didn’t until they were forced out, because no other jobs paid like hosting, and most places didn’t hire glorified sex workers. Haru, however, was lucky, all things considered. He was still in school, which meant his “lack of a job” for the last few years (or at least, that’s what it would say on his resume) could be overlooked.

Asahi, Kisumi, and Makoto had taken his key to collect his things from his old apartment and bring them back to Makoto’s. He was grateful for the time alone to get used to the new place. It was strange, and in many ways uncomfortable, to rely on someone so much, but Makoto took great care to ensure him that he could reclaim his independence any time he wanted. Of course, Haru didn’t think he really had any desire to leave, and not just because of the money. He couldn’t help but feel that even without that, he would have chosen to stay with Makoto. He would have found a new job, something that paid minimum wage and hired people with no experience, just to have something to contribute; but Makoto insisted that he pay for Haru’s last semester of school, and that Haru should focus on finishing as strong as possible.

In return, Haru did the shopping and the cooking. Makoto, for all of his countless wonderful qualities, was a _terrible_ cook. Once, Haru had casually asked Makoto over dinner how much he spent on takeout every month and had nearly choked to death on his sesame chicken. That was when he had told Makoto that if he was going to be living there rent-free and on scholarship, he would be taking over meal duties for the foreseeable future.

The romantic aspect developed later. For the first couple of weeks that Haru was there, Makoto made sure to keep his hands to himself. He didn’t so much as brush a lock of hair behind his ear or reach out for his hand while they watched TV together. Haru appreciated it immensely, the way he always appreciated Makoto showing respect for his person and his boundaries, and once he became more settled, he started missing the feeling of Makoto’s arm around him.

On his seventeenth night in Makoto’s apartment, Haru had had yet another nightmare — a common occurrence since that last fateful night — and crawled into Makoto’s bed to seek the comfort of a loving embrace.

That was probably what Haru considered the start of their official relationship.

Makoto still had some problems with trust and self-confidence, but he loved Haru more than anything, and it didn’t take long for anyone to see that when they were together. Haru had his own issues with trust and intimacy, so they took it slowly and began working through their issues side-by-side. In the meantime, Haru enjoyed the small things: a strong arm holding him closely as he slept, whispered words of love and promises for the future, a smile as warm as the blankets they were wrapped in to greet him every morning, a kiss any time he wanted.

Every day, he woke up grateful to have met Makoto. Makoto, who was so loving and attentive and kind, who Haru had fallen for so long ago but refused to admit it until he was almost too late, who laughed at his dry humor and teased him when he blushed. Makoto, who then kissed his blushing cheeks every single time and said, “I love you, Haru-chan.” Makoto, who waited patiently for Haru to say it back when he was good and ready, and who, when he finally did say it, cried tears of happiness. Haru knew that they both had a lot to get through before they could have a perfect life together, but they were on their way, and that was enough.


End file.
